Issue 16           October 2000
Featuring: A grand day out
Eric the eel
Thompson on the telly
Story time
Arran 'Tynemooth' Mallinson
Lady and The Tramp
Wheelie’s student cookery masterclass
Tone up with Thompson
Free gift!!




A Grand Day Out. Well, that’s how Wallace of Wallace & Gromit fame might have put it, but having just returned from the ‘Boro game I’d prefer to say “What an effing belting neet oot”

It started well enough with our usual few rushed pints in the THT and from then on, the night just got better.

I must admit, prior to departure for the match, I was a bit wary of ending up in Arran’s car for the trip up North. After all, who could blame me after the short-one’s infamous “Alan Shearer” outburst at the October monthly meeting? To say I was afraid of a tongue-lashing from him for doing something trivial, like putting a ‘twist’ in my seatbelt, was a massive understatement.

To counteract this I thought I’d attempt a bit of bribery. I took along with me a rude Wallace and Gromit t-shirt for the Secretary and a shiny, new badge for the dirty, old Chairman. I figured that if I offered these gifts to them, then they would allow me to travel to the game in their cars.

I needn’t have bothered as I was duly dispatched into Little Dave ex-Secretarys car. There was, however, a downside - I was in the back with every Police Constable’s wet dream / punchbag... .The one, the only.... Big Ish!

We hadn’t even got out of Leeds when the Ish cracks open his first can of John Smiths and starts tucking into some Chinese-style sarnie that, to me, looked like a pastry nappy full of vegetarians stools. Ish then proceeded to remove every last scrap of cucumber from the said item “coz ahm allorgic tiv it!”

Another 20 miles on and Big Ish is asking for a pi**stop. "Can this get any worse?" I thought to myself, but I needn’t have worried. The evening took a sharp upturn from thereon in.

We arrived at the Cellnet (Meccano) Stadium in good time after surviving the ‘Subway Run’ to the ground. On taking my seat next to Jim Phil(Chimney)pot I noticed a foul spectacle on the pitch. At least 40 kids ranging in age from about 7 to 12 years old, dressed in miniskirts and caked in enough face dart to keep a Bigg Market wench going for a lifetime. Have Middlesbrough and the people of Teesside in general forgotten all about a certain Dr Marietta Higgs and the controversy from 10 years or so back? At any other football ground I could have probably dismissed it as a show (albeit a crap one) for the present Sky cameras, but at ‘Boro....I dread to think. Why don’t they just do what Toon fans have been doing for years and go to see the strippers at Ram Jam’s or Rockies if they want to be titillated before the match? I suppose that it mustn’t be their cup of tea.

Anyway, kick-off and it’s clear from the start that the smoggies are out of their depth. Dean Gordon looks like a Cadbury’s Crème Egg in a red shirt, Bryan Robson looks like a kerb crawler in his flasher mac and Christian Karembeu just looks plain sh*t. Surprisingly it takes ‘til almost half time for us to score and my throat is starting to smart with the constant chorus of “Boro stayed at home-watched it on the telly” and chain smoking cigs as a way of making sure that the air in my lungs is clearer than that which I’m occasionally forced to inhale from the stadium. So it went on. 2-0. 3-0. A typical bundled Brian Deane goal late on, then the trip back home courtesy of Arran “Fair Enough” Mallinson.

I got home around 12, Arran didn’t once berate me (he even give me permission to smoke in his car!) and I scored for a new mobile (the adventures of which you can read later in this issue). So, all in all not a bad night’s work. 3rd place, 3 points off the Smoggies and brownie points off our lass for not coming home too late.

A Grand Day Out!


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In the late ‘70’s, and early ‘80’s many of the Durham Mags (from woolly backs such as Bearpark, Esh Winning, Belmont and
Carrville ) used to travel away in VW beetles owned by 'Beatle' Bailey (now of Yorkshire Mags fame) and Kirky (The Sculptor’s

On the way to QPR generous Eric offered all the lads copious amounts of sampled ‘out of date’ cider, obtained from his workplace most Friday nights. After being nearly sick with this often warm, sometimes infected beverage the other occupants - Beat, Kirky, Shaker (now London Mags) and Winter (now the Sherburn recluse) told Eric to put the rest in the boot. On getting back into the car, but still armed with the sample cider, the others were shocked as to why it wasn’t in the boot. The reason was obvious: the fcuking Germans had put a spare engine there in case of a breakdown!

On arrival in the smoke the car was parked up - it didn’t matter where as no one would nick it - and the occupants found the nearest pub. Eric was dying for a p*ss so Kirky did the decent thing by getting the first round in. To maintain the ambience of the group, Generous Eric then went to the bar and ordered a round of boiled egg sandwiches for him and his appreciative mates.

The conversation turned from taking the p*ss out of Cockneys to how much it had cost in petrol to get all of the way to London, at which an almighty “bloody hell it’s half past two!“ rang out from Eric - as he quickly changed the subject - and pointed out they didn’t have time to finish the discussion or they would miss the match.

Heading towards Loftus Road through them flats, a group of hoops clad daft tw#ts - who couldn’t even tell the Durham lads to fcuk off without putting an ‘R’ after the ‘0’ - decided to attack. This brief skirmish was rudely interrupted by about 20 pointy headed Metropolitan trainees, two of which were on ponies.

Kirky turned to Eric, thanked him for saving him from the Cockneys, and said “Hey mate, I’m pleased you never got nicked - I might never have got your petrol money.” Generous Eric was shocked by this and replied, “Petrol money my arse, I spent that on boiled egg sandwiches - I’ve just got enough to get in the junior gate.”

The Sculptor’s N..N. .N..Nightmare then totally lost his sense of humour and punched poor little Eric repeatedly, blackening his eye and fattening his lip. Little Eric just managed to get a boney elbow onto Kirky’s nose when the fight was ended by - you’ve guessed it - a round of applause from the QPR lot on the other side of the police line, who stood there open mouthed! The Metropolitan Police training manual had no paragraph to cover travelling fans fighting over petrol money and boiled egg sandwiches.

Beat, Shaker and by now a few others had got in through the turnstile. ‘Bloody hell it’s five past three cried Eric. Kirky rushed up to the turnstile, pulled out the entrance money paid the little foreign bloke - who’s coat was too big for him - and then felt a great big push behind him as he clicked the turnstile round and entered the ground - wait for it - with Eric who had squeezed in behind Kirky for nowt!

As time has now elapsed by close to 20 years it is difficult to recall the exact game - was it 2-1 on the plastic pitch, 5 -5 even -possibly earlier than either of those memorable matches.

On leaving the ground the exact location of the car had been forgotten and the group ended up on a high street full of shops. Generous Eric then had the bright idea for saving his mates from a long walk by - you’ve guessed it - inching a three-piece suite from a second hand shop. A hasty getaway was made with everyone sat comfortably getting pushed along by loads of other Geordies, as the shop keeper chased after them, who had to run so fast he had to keep one hand on his turban to stop it blowing off.

After two red lights and a near miss with a London bus, the transport was dumped on double yellow line to the sound of Nee Naw, Nee Naw, of a transit van luckily stuck behind cars which had actually stopped at the previously mentioned red lights.

The VW beetle was eventually found and the Durham lads headed back north. The suggestion of stopping for a pint was made by Eric to the response of “Fcuk off, we’ve got no money left, what with petrol and entrance money.” Good old Generous Eric then came to the rescue and said “Don’t worry my friends, as I got into the match for nowt I’ll get the round!”

At the pit stop Eric brought the drinks to the table, a pint for everyone, apart from Kirky. “Where’s mine you little runt?” (I think he called me a runt). “Sorry mate you’re driving and I don’t want to get you into trouble.” I replied.

The drink had worn off by Wetherby and tiredness had crept in with only the faint, but regular, boiled egg sponsored methane releases left to drag the remaining dregs of humour out of the weary bunch. But the Mackems had lost at home that day so roll on Sunday dinner time session in the Sportsman’s Arms, where Kirky would again miss out on getting a drink bought for him as he’s barred... he.. .he. .

Eric Shun

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There was I surfing the daytime channels last Tuesday afternoon (I think that's how the young ones say it isn't it?) when I comes across this old gadgy on Channel 4 doing Jack Cunningham impersonations.

I thought, you sad old man, you don't even look like Jack Cunningham (unless he's recently been the unfortunate victim of a particularly vicious hammer attack, and he was no oil painting to start off with!).

Then I thought, "F*** Me! He looks just like that piss head that's always at the front of the mini-bus on the way to the match." So I turned the sound up to hear Shiteley announce that this bloke's a contestant on Countdown and, "married with a grown up daughter." Well I thought, it can't be the geezer off the bus 'cos he's single and heavily into sordid group sex sessions. Besides that the one I know is a scruffy fat bastard and this one's thinner and decked out in top notch C & A gear. But then I hear the name "John Thompson", for it is he!

All doubts are completely removed when him and his oppo come up with their first two words. His is claret and the other chap goes for canter. So it's fine wines and horses, Tory bastards or what! What was wrong with clart? (It's got one more letter than one he got later on!)

Then there's a really surreal moment when some woolly wooftah who used to be on the telly turns to Thompson and says, "or you could have got vertical." He obviously doesn't know him very well 'cos Thompson has been horizontal for at least twenty five years. Carol Vordeman is obviously more astute as later in the show Shitely announced, "Hang on, I'm getting a hand signal." And the camera cuts to Vordeman who seems to have got the measure of JT as she's waving her right wrist up and down in a gesture that he must have become familiar with over the years. Couldn't agree with you more Carol!

Despite winning this one after a late spurt (familiar to most bushes and walls on the A1), in the second show I knew that the writing was on the wall for the newly reformed quarter-wit when he was faced with: H  S  O  I  T  R  A  N  E

"Hoister", said the great man but all I could see was “A R E  S H I T  O N”

Big Issue

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....the story of a lost mobile phone

Monday 16th October 2000

A fine victory over our North East rivals and I’m all snug in Master Graham’s smelly, but comfortable pocket as we set off home in some little chap's motor car.

Oh! Master Graham has just broken wind! I don’t like it when that happens. Sometimes it smells of sick. I hope no-one calls him now or I will be forced to ring and wake him from his foetal sleeping position in the back of the car. Bless him.

I hope that Master Graham wakes soon. I have fallen out of his pocket and onto the back seat. It is cold and there is a large man that smells of lager beside me. I think Master Graham’s friends call the man Gordano. My Master and I are stopping at his house tonight.

Oh no! Master Graham has left me behind in the motor car! Come back Master! You have forgotten me! He can’t hear me. What will I do? I’ve never been left on my own before. Oh hang on, there’s still a bald lad and that little lad in the front of the car. I’d best just sit tight and hope that they notice me............

Oh joy of joy’s! The Gordano boy is calling me. The bald lad has reached into the back seat, picked me up and is talking into me. Yippee! It’s Master Graham! He has remembered me! I’m saved!

The balding man has put me on the dashboard of the motor car next to a smelly old packet of cigarettes. The car has stopped and the bald man is getting out and taking me with him. Hmm, this is a nice warm pocket. It must be lined with Cordura ™.

I am being called into action by my new Master. He is calling his wife and asking her if she wants a pizza bringing in. Pooweee! His breath smells of cider and cigarettes. I’m glad to be back in the pocket. Cozy!

Tuesday October 17th 2000

After a restful evening on a wooden mantelpiece I arise refreshed and ready to renew my quest to be reunited with Master Graham. Back into the Cordura ™ lined pocket I go. It looks as though the bald man is having mackerel for breakfast. I hope he doesn’t breathe into me again!

I’ve been taken out of the cozy pocket and placed in a shabby “in” tray in an office that has been decorated with pictures of rude females. Master Graham would not do this to me! I hate my new Master!

The new, evil Master has used a land line to call someone called Mister Bailey. I am glad he has used a land line as I am now tiring of his awful breath.

Oh! What’s happening now? I am being placed in a bubble wrap envelope! This is cozy also but I still miss Master Graham’s stinky pocket and my friends the 'loose change' and 'the keys'. Ouch! What was that? I think I’ve just been shoved through a letterbox! How rude!

I’m bored! I’ve been in here for hours now. I wonder if this is Master Graham’s house.

I’m disappointed. I had built up my hopes that I was in my Masters hovel but I have just been retrieved from the envelope by a  very small man with a funny eye. He seems nice enough though. This must be the Bailey man.

I’m bored again. I’ve been on this sideboard for 2 ½ days now with no-one calling me. I’ve received a few text messages whilst I have been switched off. I wonder what they are and whom they are from. Hmm.

Saturday 21st October 2000

I think we are going on a trip today. The small man has pulled on a black and white striped football shirt. He looks like a humbug on legs. The small man has put me in his jeans pocket. It is cramped in here and I can smell his genitals. It’s a sweaty sort of stale smell. I am very, very uncomfortable and bored.

I can hear a train coming! Am I at a train station? Where am I going now? I really miss Master Graham. I am beginning to give up any hope of ever seeing the scruffy one ever again.

Whoa! Here comes a hand. He’s taking me out of the pocket. The bright light is hurting my eyes but I’m glad to be free of the foul stench of the small man’s groin.

My eyesight is beginning to clear, but it is still a little hazy as I am passed from the small man’s hand into a more familiar 'clammy' tidemarked hand. Is it? Could it be? It is! It’s Master Graham. Whoopeee!

I have missed Master Graham an awful lot and it is good to be back in my own smelly pocket.

I can’t wait to tell my friends 'the keys' and 'the loose change' all about my adventures. It’s a bit like Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist isn't it?

I am very tired and my battery is very low but I am overjoyed. Maybe I'll tell my tales tomorrow after I have recharged my batteries and had my back re-Sellotaped up.

I must go now. Master Graham wishes to read his text messages and to check his credits.

Although no date has been set for the sequel to this particular tale, keep an eye out in the near future for exclusive interviews with Careless Graham’s lost housekey, his vanishing sandwiches and his misplaced coat............probably after the next away game.

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ARRAN 'TYNEMOOTH' MALLINSON ....(Voice of (un)reason)

Welcome to a new feature in which our own resident Gary Bushell discusses life, the universe and....

That Keegan eh? What a bottler! Cannot handle the pressure that lad! I mean, fair enough, he rescued Newcastle from the brink of extinction and aall that. Took them to the verge of being League Champions an’ aall that. Brought in players of the ilk of Asprilla and Shearer an’ aall that. I loved  him at the Toon, even more so after he blew his top with Sir Alex on Sky telly an’ that. But as England boss? I mean, fair enough, his Mam had died the day afore the Germany game, but to jack in….just like that…..whey, he wants f--kin’ shootin’ man. In fact shootin’s too good for him. Let’s hang him. If he doesn’t want the England job, B--locks to him!

That Dave Bailey? I mean divven’t get us wrang. Canny lad an’ that and he’s done a champion job of organising travel, tickets and occasionally editing The Pud for years……..but f--kin’ hellfire! What’s he moving back up North for? Fair enough it’s aall to de with work and he might be getting’ a salary increase an’ aall that an’ he’ll be nearer his family an’ that………..but if he wants to leave the Yorkshiremags then bo-l-cks to him! Let’s hang the f--ker! In fact nar! Hangin’s too good for the little get! Draw and quarter him an’ aall that! After we’ve shot him. Good riddance that’s what I say.

So, Keith “driver of the year” Barclay didn’t take a bus up for the Boro game. What’s aall tharraboot then? I tell you what, I wouldn’t let him drive another mini-bus as lang as he lives. Fair enough, he didn’t have a ticket for the game because he’d made other arrangements an’ aall that, but we had to gan up in cars! Selfish. That’s what I caall it. If he didn’t take a bus up to Boro…..F-ck ‘im! Bol-ocks to him! His drivin’s sh-te anyway! Do you remember that Mo wifey off that ‘Driving School’ programme a few years back? Well her drivin’s better than Keith’s. Shoot the f-ck-r, that’s what I say. Bol--ks! F--k him etc. etc. etc.

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An adapted tale of Love & Troilism in Leeds

It was getting dark by the time Lady and the Tramp got back from Paris, and the two were feeling hungry when Tramp explained to Lady that he was not a one-partner dog, and he showed Lady the different bitches whom he regularly “hung out the back of”.
But Lady wasn’t jealous. She had been brought up to be unselfish and she didn’t mind sharing, even if it meant having intercourse with Tramp at the same time as another bitch.

Tramp decided that The Fox at Bramhope would be the perfect place to eat, so he went to his special entrance to talk to John the Landlord. Landlord John was happy to see Tramp and started to give him his usual dinner of steak pie, but when John set eyes on Lady he realised that this must be a special night for Tramp so he began setting up a special table with a red and white checkered cloth.

Landlord John set out quite a spread for the couple, complete with breadsticks and candles and Spaghetti Bolognese. Landlord John and his missus brought out an accordion and a mandolin, and they sang a beautiful song about a mucky old river called the Tyne.

It was a beautiful night and the two lovers were so enchanted that they didn't even notice they were eating the same strand of spaghetti until they bumped noses. Lady looked away shyly, and Tramp passed the last meatball to her with his wrinkly old nose.  “Gan on! Ye gerrit, I’m stuffed, canny fu-ker!” he enthused. After dinner, the lovers took a long romantic walk with Jasper, and Tramp stopped to write “NUFC-TRAMP LOVES LADY - 4 EVA & EVA I.D.S.T.” on the pavement in piss. It was a night that they'd never forget.

As they arose the next morning, Lady realized she should have gone home hours before to feed her kids. Tramp thought this was silly and decided to show her how exciting a Claims Inspector’s life could be.

As they passed a public house Tramp decided to go inside and quaff 8 bottles of N.B.A inside an hour. Lady didn't think this was fun at all, but Tramp seemed to be having the time of his life. The trouble was, Lady liked to go clothes shopping and not get rat-arsed with a bunch of Tramp’s scruffy pals from the North. Lady did not like them and she certainly did not like the idea of her Tramp socialising with such a raucous bunch.

Lady took Tramp to one side and told him that she didn’t approve and that if their relationship was to last, then he would have to change his ways. Tramp reluctantly agreed and the pair moved away from Tramps friends in the bar to a secluded corner of the lounge where they spent the rest of the evening looking into each others eyes and talking about clothes, knitting, perms and the relative merits of tampons and press-on towels.


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No. 14 - Steak, Kidney & Ale Pie

Ingredients: 1 Happy Shopper Calf Kidney, 2 Lidl Chopped Onions, 2lb Netto Steak, 1/2 Tbsp Farmfoods Worcester  Sauce, 1/2 Tbsp Netto Salt & Pepper, Tbsp Aldi Butter (Brylcreem will do), 2 Tbsp Happy Shopper Flour.
Pastry: 1 cup of Flour + 2 tbsp Salt + 1/3 cup Shortening + 2 Tbsp cold water.

Wash the kidney, remove membranes and fat, and consume raw.

Cut kidney in 1" cubes. Cube the steak into 1" cubes and eat the lot.

Melt the shortening in a heavy pot and eat.

Eat the onions (chewing often) until soft enough to be swallowed.

When the meat is semi-digested, guzzle down 2 cups of boiling water, Worcester sauce, salt, and pepper. Leave in stomach on a very low heat for 1 & 1/2 hours.

Preheat stomach to 400 F. Blend the butter with the flour to make a beurre manie. Drop small pellets of this paste into your stomach and jump about to thicken it. If you wish to use a pastry topping, roll out the dough and swallow down whole being careful not to chew, so as it will blanket the meat mixture in your digestive tract.

Should you wish to make your own pastry: Mix the flour and salt in your hands and eat. Cut in the shortening with your teeth. Combine lightly only until the mixture resembles coarse meal or very fine peas; its texture will not be uniform but will contain crumbs and small bits and pieces (these should be swallowed as soon as possible. Slurp some water into the flour mixture, a tablespoon at a time, and mix lightly with your tongue, using only enough water so that the pastry will hold together when pressed gently into a ball. Swallow.

Leave in stomach for approximately 4 hours, gradually adding 12 pints of Tozzy’s Ayingerbrau.

Your Steak, Kidney and Ale pie should now be sufficiently digested to disperse over your hosts bed linen. Serve immediately on a clean dressing gown, pillow case or carpet.

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The response from people keen to have a wonderfully furrowed brow and agile eyebrows just like the gymnastic ones that John Thompson exhibited during his appearance on Channel 4’s Countdown has been so good that JT himself has decided to share the secrets of his amazing 3 step brow fitness programme..............exclusively to readers of The Pud.

Step 1 - Raises

I like to start gently with a few simple ‘Raises’. Find a comfortable armchair, correct your breathing, and when you feel the time is right, carefully but forcefully, raise both eyebrows simultaneously and hold in their upright position for 3 counts. After 3 seconds carefully lower them back down and rest. Repeat this process 10 times until the brow area is flaccid and relaxed.

Step 2 - Brow Bells©

Carefully balance your patented JT Brow Bells© (£9.99 each + p&p - see order form below) on your relaxed brow. First lift your left eyebrow until your left eye is fully open and your eyebrow is suitably arched at least 6” above the top of your eye socket and hold for a period of 5 seconds. Lower the eyebrow and rest. This process should be repeated a maximum of 10 times during any given session. Perform the same exercise with the right eyebrow.
IMPORTANT - By no means should these limits be exceeded as this can result in permanent damage of the brow and in extreme cases can result in you having a permanently ‘surprised’ look or leave you resembling one of the Professors from the old Tefal adverts.

Step 3 - Brow Presses

For this exercise you will not need any special equipment, any old run-of-the-mill household wall will suffice. Face the wall with your toes tight against the skirting board. Keeping your back as straight as possible, slowly lean forward until your forehead is just touching the wall surface. Still keeping the back straight, raise both eyebrows as high as possible so that the brow wrinkles up and becomes deeply furrowed thus pushing your head back from the wall. Hold this position for 5 seconds and slowly lower the eyebrows so that again you move closer to the wall. Repeat this process 10 times.

By now you should be starting to feel your brow “burn”. Remember the old adage; NO PAIN, NO GAIN.....CANNY LAD.

Wait until the “burn” has subsided slightly and repeat the entire routine twice more.

Within a fortnight you should have visible results and the skin on your forehead should resemble scrotal flesh just like mine...........or you can claim your money back!
I too want a forehead like a sliced white loaf! Please rush me the following quality items; 
Item Reference Quantity Price Total Price
JT Brow Bell (right)   £9.99  
JT Brow Bell (left)   £9.99  
JT Eyebrow Fitness Manual   £6.99  
JT Eyebrow Fitness Video   £13.99  
JT Eyebrow Fitness Mat    £25.99  

Please make all cheques payable to JT Fitness Enterprises Ltd including £1 postage & packing per item ordered and send to :

JT Fitness Enterprises Ltd
The Leazes

Please allow 28 days for delivery.

** SPECIAL OFFER: All orders placed before 31.10.00 will receive a free, genuine leather, autographed JT dog-lead. Don’t delay!**

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Obviously it is more relevant to some (Thompson, who will have to complete two request forms per game) than others (Harbord).

Simply copy this page 38 times (depending how many away games you’re taking in this season) fill in your details and hand it over with a smile and a peck on the cheek to your nearest and dearest.

Then just sit back and wait for your 'pass-out' to be returned to you. It might be a good idea to make an extra 10 copies to allow for good cup runs.


I request permission for a leave of absence from our marital home for the following period: 

Date........................Time of departure........................ Time of return..........................

Should permission be granted, I do solemnly swear to only visit locations stated below.  Nor shall I speak to another female other than those listed without gaining oral permission to do so from my better half.  Nor shall I consume above the allocated volume of alcohol without first phoning for a taxi or ordering a take away. I understand that even if permission is granted my wife/girlfriend retains the right to be pissed off with me the following day for no valid reason whatsoever.

Amount of alcohol allowed units)....................................................................................
Locations likely to be visited..........................................................................................
Females likely to be encountered...................................................................................

Strength of curry permitted.............................................................................................

I am a low life.  I know who wears the trousers in our home, and it ain't me.  I promise to abide by your rules and regulations.  I understand that this is going to cost me a fortune in Cadbury's Roses and Flowers. You reserve the right to obtain and use my credit cards in my absence.  I hereby promise not to sleep overnight on a park bench next to a tramp. On my way home, I will not pick fights with opposition supporters or with a person who only exists in my inebriated mind, nor shall I conduct in depth discussions with said entity.

I declare that to the best of my knowledge (of which I have none) the above information is correct.


This decision is not open to negotiation other than on my terms.


Permission for my Husband/Partner to be away for the period....................................................

Date........................Time of departure...........................Time of return................................ 



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