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tony draper
28th Sep 2001, 01:38
Geordie and the waall.

Geordie is out walking his whippets on the moors outside Hexam, when he is
taken prisoner by two Romans of the ninth, and taken before Hadrian.

"I thay Thenturion,is thith man definatly a dwuid"?

"Yeth sir, errr, I mean yes sir, we think so"

"You there, yeth you with the dogth, are you a dwuid"?

"Wey yor ona, a divunt kna wot ye meen, amm just a bricky from Getsheed"

"Thenturian I can't understand a word thith fellow is thaying, do you thpeak the
Language"?

"Yes Sire, I think he is saying he is a bricklayer from Gateshead "

"Vewy well, Thenturian tell him we want his advith on how to stop theeth
picth and thcots coming over the border and cauthing twuble ".

"Ya Ona, yi divint hafta tell us aboot them Scochies, wey tha alus cuming
doon ind settin fire to wor pigin crees ind plunderin wa leek trenchis"

"I think he is saying they have had trouble from Scots themselves"

"Athk him how hith twibe the Geordeeth , would deal with thith situathen
thenturian"

"Wey Sore, we wad bild a f*kin geet waal acrost the land from syde ti syde,
they jock bastids ill not get ower thet"

"He says they would build a large wall Sire"

"Thath it ! !, of corth, we will build a wall from cotht to cotht,
give thith creature a reward thenturian, and thend him on hith way"

Geordie is taken back to the place he was captured and released.
And given a large bucket of spagetti as a reward.
Puzzled at his substance, he spies the arch Druid Druid of the Geordie tribe approaching.

"Wey Geordie aah hord yid been capchad by them Romins"

"Aye Druid, thi gorris allreet but the just wantid me advice like"

"F*kin hell Geordie a hope yi didn't tell thim any of wor secrits"

"divint worry Druid, ah telt them nowt aboot how to bild bath hooses
or how tu centrilly heet tha huts, like wors,
or how wi mek them tile floors with the picchas on thim like wor lass made is do forra, in mey hut.

"Thets allreet then Geordie , bad enuff them Sundiland gits showed
them how to build roads, iffit wosn't for them F*kin macims the blidy
Romins id still be in the sooth, amang them puffs doon there".

"Aye Druid, them wearside tribes is scabs alreet"

"Wots in yon bucket Geordie"?

"Wey ah divint kna, sum sh*te them Romins givis fo me pigs, a think"

CANIS MEUS ID COMEDIT

[ 27 September 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Onan the Clumsy
28th Sep 2001, 02:50
I thought this was going to be about Wall's Ice Cream.


Maybe it is :confused:

HugMonster
28th Sep 2001, 03:46
And I thought it was going to be something about how TG got over anyway... ;)

Bally Heck
28th Sep 2001, 04:17
Oh come on Tony. Your worse than a Hollyood director, Trying to rewrite history an' that. Why aye Why aye.

Roads: Thomas McTelford

Baths: Hamish McArmitage

Central heating: Torrance McBackbiler

Pig sh!te: Torquil Mc.....sorry that was a Geordie

And the Romins built the waw tae keep yoose jordy erses oot o' Gods ane country lest we learn hoo tae start chatin' up birds in an uncharming way like what yoose do. Why jae think they come up tae Embra fur thur hen nites? Ever seen a geordie virgin get married? Noo ye ken why!

Edited to bypass the censor.

[ 27 September 2001: Message edited by: Bally Heck ]

tony draper
28th Sep 2001, 04:24
I have only one thing to say Mr H

EDWARDUS LONGUS SCOTORUM MALLEUS HIL EST.

Beware, Mr H we did it once, we can do it again.
be afraid be very afraid. :eek:

HugMonster
28th Sep 2001, 04:43
Party? In Edinburgh? What a quaint idea! :cool:

However, Mr. Heck, unlike Mr. Draper and myself, you'll probably not have seen the Quayside here in the late Earl Grey's own brainchild of a Saturday night - party? Sadly, the word does not do justice to the phenomenon. I have, over the years, lived in a few places and, apart from Her Majesty's former Dominions in the West Indies, I've seen nothing like the Quayside - one vast, open-air party, with beautiful women everywhere, some of whom are so sympathetically inclined towards their fellow human beings' wellbeing that they enquire whether one would like some company, some dressed in a manner that you would think would cause them in inclement weather to feel very cold (and often you can see their gentleman partners trying their best to warm them up with a little exercise in the area that so many drinking establishments so thoughtfully provide in the alleys behind the building), whilst others enjoy games such as attempting to entertain the large gentlemen (employed by young people's clubs to welcome the guests and wish them a very enjoyable evening) with riddles such as "How old do you think I look?" or indulge in a little competitive sport such as sprint racing, frequently such races being run between the entrances to different public houses and see who can be the first to open the door of any taximeter cabriolet that arrives at the kerbside. I have often observed, however, that unfortunately the brewing houses that serve the town do not have sufficient capacity for, towards the end of the evening, as the revellers wend their happy way homeward (occasionally escorted, lest they lose their way, by friendly representatives of the local constabulary) they discover that the last jug of ale that they imbibed was not of the quality they consumed earlier in the celebrations, and this seems to have an unfortunate effect on the digestive systems of some people, who are quite unable to avoid (much though they would prefer otherwise) voiding their stomachs, occasionally bladders and (for the poor unfortunate few) their bowels in some shadowy corner. I trust that this shortcoming may be rectified shortly, as I intend to write a stern letter to The Times about it, and no doubt my Member of Parliament will wish to raise questions in The House.

[ 28 September 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

OzExpat
28th Sep 2001, 08:52
Howay man!

Gainesy
28th Sep 2001, 20:46
Ah...Sanity at last. :D

Blacksheep
28th Sep 2001, 21:10
Now then Huggy,

You can see what superficial reporting leads to. The scantily clad ladies down the Quay are Scottish Ladies trying to persuade 'Geordie' to buy them a ticket back home north of the Wall. The gentlemen with the digestive problems are Southerners from way down near Leeds, or perhaps as far south as Derby, who are quite unable to cope with real beer. Or perhaps they have partaken of the great Geordie joke - Jorney inta Spee-ass (or Newcastle Brown Ale as it is known south of Middlesbrough) devised for the very purpose of tormenting southern poofs. Real men drink 'Ex' or 'Fed' while lasses sup Double Maxim.

Finally, The Earl Grey was a southern commoner who was lucky enough to find coal under Geordie's leek trinches and grew rich enough from it to purchase an Earldom from a canny old prime minister. You can easily tell that he was "new money" with no real taste if ye ever try drinking his tea.

Whey Aye man, ya divn't nar wha' tha's tarkin aboot...

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Through difficulties to the cinema

tony draper
28th Sep 2001, 22:37
That is true Mr B Newcastle Exhibition was the tipple for the connoisseur, mothers milk with a kick in the tail.
Never cared much for Newcastle Brown Ale,even in my drinking days, had the occasional bottle now and then, the real stuff, not the palid immitation shadow of its former self they sell now, tailored for todays weedy youth.
It was a very strange drink, made from hops water other stuff with a known alcohol; content I suppose, but it used to turn the mildest mannered people into raving loons,
Watched that happen a few times, yet regular Brown Ale drinkers were ok, appart from all dying very young.

Bervie
29th Sep 2001, 01:36
Get down the Spanish city at Whitley Bay for some canny lasses!

HugMonster
29th Sep 2001, 03:02
Ahhh - Whitley Bay. I am informed, on what appeared to be very good grounds, that Whitley Bay is the Shag Capital of the North East. This is not, of course, surprising, since there is a great variety of seabirds there. It is also a very attractive spot, and on sunny days I am told you can find many people out "looking for the birds". If you were to wander along the coast, in many a secluded spot you will find young couples engaged in what ornithologists, I gather, call "twitching". On the sunnier days, when the temperature can rise as high as 62 degrees Fahrenheit, such is the level of excitement and the temperature, that many are discovered partially disrobed. I think we ought not condemn them too harshly, however, as I am sure that in their passion for finding these shags, they will have no eyes for anything but their prey.

As for entertainment in this region during the weekend, I am sure it will not have escaped your notice, dear readers, that there is an Association Football whose playing field is situated in Newcastle. Again here the keen ornithologists among you will be pleased to hear that they have granted themselves the nickname of "The Magpies", and their team turn out to play clad in matching shirts that emulate the attractive plumage of that bird. In their enthusiasm for the game and for the wonderful spirit of brotherhood it engenders, before (and frequently during) the actual play they sing to the supporters of their opponents. Should they be worried that those guests who have travelled far to see their visiting team play do not know the words of the songs they sing, they ensure that such welcome guests know that they will be taught them and taught well, since the Newcastle supporters inform them that it will be a lesson never to be forgotten. And after the game, there is often an impromptu performance of some historical memorable happening, which for the general interest and education of the bystanders, is usually a re-enactment of, for example, the Battle of Alnwick or the Battle of Stamford Bridge (which often seems to be a popular one). To return to the Magpie theme, there is one player who I am always informed was a stout player, whose very nickname is "Gazza", which, as the more cunning linguists among my readers will appreciate, is Italian for a magpie.

And so, after returning home to dress those slight knocks and abrasions collected during the rough and tumble of the boyish fun, a return to the Quayside for another evening. But I think I have covered that already.

OzExpat
29th Sep 2001, 16:38
Ahhh - Whitley Bay

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! :D :D :D

DX Wombat
30th Sep 2001, 03:47
Brilliant! :D :D :D :D :D

sanjosebaz
3rd Oct 2001, 04:29
Aa heeat ti tell yer this like, given yer merst ekslent jerk - but wor fat b*stard Gazza divn't pleea fer the Magpies ney more :)

Blacksheep
3rd Oct 2001, 10:53
How true, but he's still a Geordie. Nothing can be done about that, unfortunately.

Unless he's transferred to Hartlepool! - now there's a thought.

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Through difficulties to the cinema