Symptoms

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.

A familiar face spotted in the crowd:

Our Mal looks to be the only 'normal' one there.

Shocking, shocking, shocking ....0-3, 0-3, 0-3.

Balanced match analysis to follow from Sym.

Oh dear, 0 - 2 at half-time ... watching the match live on BeIN Sports.  Our boys will have to do better in the second half otherwise the gools will infest the Bigg Market tonight.

Reedy - Westridge opened in 1956 so I think your Dad's got the dates wrong;  also the stonework behind is wrong for Westridge.  They could be a senior team from a Junior school as they don't look to be big enough to be 14 years old - loads of the local junior schools were built with stone block.

Separated at Birth has been resurrected in Chat Central ...

Further pictures just in from the Vatican Square ... these show one of the doves released by the mackemBossGodBotherer being pursued by the black and white birds of goodness.  Later reports tell of an eviscerated carcass seen crawling back to it's dilapidated cree on the banks of the polluted mackemburn.

Mal - is your brother the more intellige..... STOP NOW SYM.

Bleach has a high pH so isn't effective at killing mould spores ... it tends to only whiten the surface spores so appears to person applying the stuff to be effective;  any mould below the surface in a 'porous' wall coating, like plaster or plasterboard, remains unaffected.  The fumes when applying bleach are hazardous so should be avoided by those with iffy health.

A much more effective (and safer) method is to use borax powder, diluted in water, as the removal/killing medium.  Ditto white vinegar/water solution. 

Order the cold-compresses for the brows of those who don't understand.  It always was, always is, and always will be a 'battle' between two rival tribes.  A couple of hundred years ago we would have all had weapons with which to slaughter our rivals,  us with sophisticated firearms and those from the primeval swamp down the coast armed with sticks.  Obviously, the development of the stick was the crowning glory of mackemtribe technology.

Mal - you're getting pretty good at Photoshop ... I can't see any evidence of 'shaky hand syndrome' when you were applying those red brush strokes to the boss God botherer.

Shame I don't have a long enough straw to suck-up my winning pint ... perhaps we could save it for the next time I come over to NEBlighty.

Ok, now let the Photoshop wars begin ...

Come on you Blues!

Yep, it should be a memorable day at Wembley.  Man City 8 mackems 0 perhaps?

I'm sure that our cameramen will be able to bring us plenty of images of the mackem's preparations, match build-up, presentation of the losers medals, etc.

I remember the 'swill-man' coming to Westridge School to collect all the kitchen scraps - a flat-bed truck with loads of galvanised dustbins into which he'd empty the food waste.  It was all very dirty and smelly with the bins smeared with old food dribbles.

Us big lads once chucked a first year kid into one of the slop bins - when he emerged he was covered in slime and cabbage leaves.  What a hoot.

Getting the bus home from The Haymarket after the match ... as soon as the Ref blew for the end of the game we'd gallop at top speed down the lanes to get on 'The Newbiggin Bus' or the 'Ashington Bus' - I've forgotten their numbers..  Because we were fit young lads we always beat the crowds to the buses.  When we got back to Bedders the 'Pink' had arrived at the Newsagent (can't remember the name at the moment) opposite the Monument;  only the 1st half of the match was reported.

I remember going often to the Mart with my Dad to buy hens ... we used to keep them on the allotment at the back of our house. Up the station slope, park the car and walk around the pens - the place was always packed. I can also recall 'cattle railway trucks' being shunted into the Mart sidings to load/unload livestock.

Of course, the Morpeth pubs were open all day for the Mart trade ... I must have been about 13 when my Dad took me into one of the pubs; beer for him, pop for me. It seemed that escorted kids (farmers kids) were tolerated.

Anyway, the chucks would be taken home and introduced to the resident clucks, fights would break-out, then peace would reign. All our hens were named by me and they were great fun to play with ... chasing dangled worms (hen races) and so on. I've got some lovely 8mm film footage (now converted to DVD) of the chucks racing for the worms, one had even been taught to stand on my Dad's shoulder (like Long John Silver's parrot).