Symptoms

I read the topic title and thought it would be an interesting ornithological subject ... something like a rare dickie spotted in Bedders. Poo.

I think the scene might have been in the film 28 Days Later (about Blighty after a zombie plague) where there was a huge barbed-wire topped barracade across a motorway - one side zombies, the other side plague free. Anyway, I reckon if the Jockos follow 'Tubs' Salmon and declare UDI then we should erect something similar on the A1 at Berwick. Just another thought ... who thinks everybody in Blighty should have a vote on the 'Jocko question', and maybe the wording of the proposal should be: 'Should the Scots be allowed to stay in the Union?' I reckon there'd be a majority to chuck 'em out.

As a student in London, in the late 60s early 70s, my favourite weekend tipple was a pint of Broon (available in the Student Union bar) with an added crushed tab of Mandrax stirred-in. The Uni's quack used to prescribe 'mandies' freely if you told him you were having trouble getting to sleep, bottles and bottles of the 'pinkies' were given out by him. Ah, happy days ... very, very, very, very happy days.

This Bailey bridge formed a road (not rail) crossing for euclids (huge lorries) to allow them to shift coal from Acorn Bank opencast* to the sorting/screening site at Bebside. The Bebside site also housed a big railhead which allowed onward transportation of coal across the UK rail network. There was also a Bailey bridge into the screening site, over the main road at Bebside (next to Jackie Reed's garage for his coach company, Service Coaches). The euclid way was paved for it whole length with compacted grey spoil (a bit like modern day 'scalping's) taken from the mine hole; this surface had to be continuously rolled by a massive towed roller and sprayed to keep the dust down. *the opencast site was operated by the civil engineering company Costain and so the whole operation was know locally as 'Costain's'.

No, no, no Maggs ... it'd be just like Mal offering to take me to a match at that mackem dark place. I need to preserve what brain cells I have left so can't risk exposing them to the CBS or the mackemstuff.

Dr ... do a search of this Forum. We've discussed the opencast, its bridges, vehicles, draglines, and so on, so you may find stuff of interest. Also try searching for Costains.

Rum and Black was another favourite. A pal of mine from Ashington, a lad called Cookie (another nickname preventing successful searching-out today) used to drink pints of the stuff. Once, when camping in Keswick with a load of pals during the Summer hols (1969) he drank so much of the stuff that he passed-out, I found him the next morning lying on ground in the tent STUCK to the groundsheet by dried purple vomit. Ambulance called, whipped off to Keswick hospital, belly pumped, stuff injected by the quacks, me watching. He made a good recovery and was out drinking with us that night in the Wool Pack pub ... oh, and that was the night of the moon landing. Happy days.

I'll arrange to vector the RAF training flights away from the Blyth Valley and suggest they make an attack sortie over the Theatre Royal early in March; perhaps they'll succeed in silencing the Cramlington Budgie Strangler once and for all, thus saving Sym's delicate lugs.

Cuthbert born 634, croaked 687 Bede born 672, croaked 735. Apologies for the spelling mistake of croaked in post #34 ... it's good to keep these things correct, especially for our younger viewers shackled to text spelling.

Bede was only 15 when Cuthbert croked and he lived for another 48 years. Tony Robinson's latest telly show, Walking Through History, explained what happened as he walked from ChillyJockoland, across the border, into Northumberland, and over to Lindisfarne.

First they came for the .... Then they came for GGG .... With apologies to Martin Niemöller.

The Blyth Valley resembles narrow sections of the River Volga where it passes through Nizhny Vovgorod - so the RAF use it for practice bombing runs. Obviously, Ivan doesn't have any wind turbines as he relies on giant coal fired power stations for his lekky, so to make the practice runs accurate the RAF didn't want the veggie/sandal brigade sticking-up windmills.

I see the Government's news manipulating team came up with the latest wheeze to placate the 'great unwashed' of the soft southern floodplain huggers ... yep, they wheeled out those two parasitic wasters (bald Willy Horseface and 'Ginger' Hewitt) to hump sandbags. So that's alright then!

Reports in the paper today that another bunch of boiled Rød Pølse suckers have plans to top another giraffe.

I say burn more coal and sod the grandkids and the Thames floodplain huggers.

Currently re-reading Howard Pease's History of the Northumberland Hussars (I posted about my Grandad and his horse Ned a couple of times earlier in this thread). In post #6 I mentioned Ned and his dobbin mates were all left behind in Frogland to meet a dubious fate, anyway, Pease's history clearly states that only one Hussar's dobbin made it back to Northumberland and his former (before the War) owner. The lady continued to ride him for years afterwards. I'll post the dobbin's details later ... a true war horse! Back to watching the second half - Spurs 1 - 0 up against the Toon.

I reckon this baby tapir will be next on their hit list:

There I was quietly reading my beloved Guardian when I nearly choked on my coffee and croissant; I'd just come across the headline that the Danes had topped Marius. I read the article with increasing disbelief and the news that they'd actually done the deed in front of all those nippers with public disembowelment to follow, finally chucking his entrails to the lions. You simply couldn't make it up! Yep, I accept the scientific argument regarding the shrinking European genepool but wouldn't a shagging ban for Marius been a better option especially since that wildlife park in ecky-thump land were prepared to take him. Just imagine if the boiled Rød Pølse suckers had reprieved him at the last moment what fantastic positve publicity would have been generated for the zoo with thousands of extra rubber-neckers paying to get in to see him. But then again this is a country that allows some of its folk to slaughter whales and dolpins up in their Faroe Islands - bastards! I reckon GGG is near the mark when he suggests the place is stuffed ... just wait for the demos at the gates, the online campaigns, and so on.

The 'old' Sally Army building main entrance was along an alley off Hartford Road - it didn't front onto the main road. I recall the building had lots of nice features like dressed yellow brick highlights around the door and windows. Adjacent was Dowson's Buildings - you could go through an archway on Hartford Rd and into an enclosed cobbled yard that all the houses backed onto. There's a thread elsewhere on the Forum about this.

I distinctly remember forking out 1s 10d for Fed at the Market Place Club in 67/68/69ish but can't recall if it was ordinary or best ... perhaps it was ordinary because of cost as we never seemed to have enough spare dosh. Players No6 or B&H Sovereign (gold packets) snouts were chosen 'cos they were cheap ... we could never afford to buy packs of 20, always 10. I can't remember how much they cost

I earlier wrote: "I seem to remember the girls usually drank a porter sort of beer that came in a very small gill bottle (1/4 pint) but its name has slipped the memory for the moment." It came to me in a flash .... Barley Wine.

Oh no! He hasn't written an Autobiography, has he?

Just about all possible topics lurk somewhere here on the Forum.

Maggs wrote: "Sting does affect a Geordie accent!" I rest my case.

The Railway Tavern when I was about 16. Trouble was it was a mackem Vaux pub so the first pint I had was Vaux Gold tankard and it tasted awful, it had a sort of 'soapy' flavour. But, 'pints' were what all the blokes drank so I persisted with beer and developed a life long taste for the stuff. Obviously, Blue Star* beers were much, much better than the mackem muck and of course there was always the Federation beers at the clubs - yum, yum! I seem to remember the girls usually drank a porter sort of beer that came in a very small gill bottle (1/4 pint) but its name has slipped the memory for the moment. Drinking and driving was never a concern back then, I remember regularly driving miles to boozers, having a skinful, then driving home. Many stories to tell but I'll hold-off telling until others post theirs ... what's the 'statute of limitations' for out-running the Peelers whilst pissed at the wheel? Obviously, I don't do that sort of thing now ... the Bizzies have guns here! *for our younger viewers Blue Star was the trademark for the Newcastle Brewery.