Symptoms

And don't forget the pinball machines.

Gorilla pop-up shops or resturants, perhaps.

Google that phrase to see how successful they are and filter for images.

Not for me!  Too much ice cold water shrivels the whatits just as Eggy will remember from Cambois.

As lads we had some canny fishing off the power station hot pipe.

I'm sure that the Peelers will catch the "scumbags" but the magistrates will only dish out 35 minutes of community service.  It might not even get to the Beaks as the DPP'll will probably deem it not in the public interest to proceed with a prosecution.

Or even bitumen sands ... but my tar sands is fine:

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/tar-sands-and-keystone-xl-pipeline-impact-on-global-warming/

http://www.greenpeace.org/canada/en/campaigns/Energy/tarsands/

http://ostseis.anl.gov/guide/tarsands/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oil_sands

Take your pick from any of the oil rich states (many reports suggest Saudi is knee-deep in it) or the military industrial complex.  In the medium term however, once the Yankees have become self-sufficient again in hyrdro-carbon production (oil from the huge deposits of north American tar sands and gas from their fracking operations), my hunch will be that they'll just nuke the whole of the Middle East and be done with it.  

Brilliant job ... and the lass with the cerise locks knew exactly where the blame rightly lay for for it all coming to an end.  I'm sure that the Thatcher apologists who lurk here will be along shortly to blame it all on the Unions.

Just discovered this photo of Muter's delivery lorry:

Apologies if it already exists in one of the galleries here but I can't remember seeing it before.

The parochial nature of life generally back then meant that we rarely heard reports of crime from elsewhere unless it was something really horrific like the Moor Murders or the Shepherd's Bush Massacre, for example.  My paper round in the 60s was mainly The Journal in the morning and The 'Chronic' in the evening with a very rare national rag chucked in so the emphasis seemed always to be 'local' stuff.

Westridge looks neglected ... almost as if it's waiting for the demolition men to arrive.  Maybe the 60 year-old buildings are now 'not fit for purpose' and need to be tumbled for new stuff to be built.

Nice plaque ... but if it's made of metal how long before scumbag nicks it for scrap value?

Eggs ... I didn't go to Whitley either;  I attended the Bedlington First School* on Ridge Terrace.  I knew Micky and Martin from Westridge and Ken from when I went to the Grammar Sixth Form to do A Levels.

*I'm sure that's officially what it was called but we called it 'West End Junior'.

The lad second left back row looks very much like Micky Henderson and the lad on the right back row I'm sure is Martin Henderson:  I'm not sure if they were related.  Both played for Westridge teams ... I remember Micky being a brilliant footballer.  Ken went to the Grammar School and played for them ... I remember him being a little bit 'tubby' in the 6th Form but still a really good player.

GGG wrote:  "One third pint bottles. Actually I tell a lie about one particular school in Gosforth; the unused stuff quickly disappeared into the kitchens to be used in the school dinners, which were - of course - billed to parents! :)"

Aye! ... an example of true capitalism at work and straight out of the Tories playbook of depriving the poor kiddies and then 'stiffing' the parents.  GGG's tale may be an urban myth ( "... I tell a lie ..." ) but you never know.

But what about that lush growth on Mal's mush ... obviously well fed with Babybio*.

*for any non-gardeners out there Babybio is proprietary plant grub and not something that Operation Yewtree would be interested in.

Those being 'stiffed' by Murdoch's evil Sky empire can also get it live on the Gold channel.

I first saw their telly programmes in 1969 in the Students Union ... the place was packed, but to be honest I didn't 'get it' at first.  Most of the other students were in hysterics and I thought what a bunch of pseuds ... my experience of comedy was 'blue' comics at the Market Place Club or 'tame' types on Sunday Night at the London Palladium,  but the show quickly grew on me and by week three I was hooked and have been ever since. 

A great tale Micky.

However, the really big question is which petshop did KeithL's blond haired companion come from.

Perhaps we should all post a photo of us a kid in the company of an animal, here's mine:

Me with Major in 1953

Wow! It looks like I've been taken over by some devine source or power.

Click, crackle, zzzz ... Yes you have and you'll never appear here again, so say goodbye!

I shall spake mighty judgement upon all, and to convince doubters and ungodly amongst them of all their ungodly deeds and offenses which they have committed, and all of their hard speeches which these ungodly sinners have spoken in defense of that abomination who cackles and speaketh with false tones.  This fruit of Beelzebub's putrid loins who sprouted forth and falsely beguiled many in my flock with his discordant bleating will never be saved.  He who is known as the Cramlington Budgie Strangler will never be saved.  Listen well to those who are wise for they do know that the CBS is false.

I knew it!!!  His reach is insidious!!!  He'll be proselytizing about strange sexual techniques next.  He must be stopped.

Foxy wrote: "...they spend their time taking it in turns writing a column for the local rag. Every week having the same content, repeats of an inept Coalition Government that we've already read about ..."

Well, of course they do that type of thing.  Political shysters realise they have no real function (apart from gorging themselves in the expenses trough), have no real influence so can't really affect change, so they spend most of their time fashioning 'caring credentials' via the local media.

I mentioned earlier that I'd post details of the saved dobbin ... I've scanned the bit from Howard Pease book about Cauliflower (a lovely name for a horse):

Eggs wrote about rugby: "... and the forward doesn't say a word; accepts the ref's interpretation (right or wrong) and gets back on with the game."

Perhaps it has something to do with the sporting tradition of rugby being based on a form of Athenian Code of Conduct;  in other words, a sport played by 'gentlemen' (a term I use in the broadest sense).  Modern football, on the other hand, has evolved into a disgusting pantomime full of grotesques gorging themselves on the riches on offer - so it's hardy suprising when behaviour often borders of the criminal, the violent, the theatrical, the greedy and the vile. Oh, and I love to watch both games.

Pardew's head action can't be described as a head-butt ... it was too lame.  A real 'Glasgow handshake' would have seen the other fella drop like a sack of tatties.  'Percy' Pardew can't even get a nutting right.

He'd be smudged on some cheapo phone, the image posted to some trouble-making website, the boss cop would make some false statement about how the Peelers good work at reducing crime figures had been undermined by the action of one rogue bizzie, sacks him.