Issue 23           December 2001
Featuring: Waffle
  Canny Lad of the month
  'The Farmers' remembered
  Top 10 celebrity football tug boats
  Ask Alan
  Arran 'Tynemooth' Mallinson
  Keith Kabbagebreath's PC world
  Wor Wheelie's crapping corner



Who’d have thought it eh? 2nd Pud of the season and, at the time of writing, we’re sitting pretty in 4th place and en route to a Champions League spot. Mackems and Smoggies are no threat and we’re only one point behind dirty Leeds. Everythings rosy! However, the London ‘jinx’ still has no sign of disappearing after the unlucky defeat by Chelsea. We haven’t got a pub in which to host our monthly meetings from the end of December. We’re still hanging on to see if John Beresford will become our club President and Elena Marcef*ckinlino is still on our payroll.

Speaking of Leeds earlier, Robbie Fowler’s been nicked by West Yorkshires finest only 12 days after setting foot in Leeds. Apparently he was arrested for an act of ‘criminal damage’ in Hunslet on the 11/12/01. What was he doing? Sweeping the streets or refurbishing a tenement flat? Rumours that Leeds are attempting to sign a replacement in Norman Fletcher from Slade HMP FC are so far unfounded.

The few of you that bother to read the Yorkshire Evening Post may have had quite a shock whilst scanning through the obituary section during November.

Tom once thought that he was the only Thomas Harbord in the UK after obtaining his Hotmail address so easily. Apparently not, as you will see from the press cutting on the left.

Not only was there another Tom Harbord in the UK, but a namesake that lived right on our Secretary’s doorstep in Pudsey. Just to set the record straight; Tom isn’t Mal’s Uncle. He isn’t 90 years old (but not a kick in the ar*e off!) and he’s not dead. In fact the noisy b*st*rd couldn’t be farther from it. Spooky eh?

Thanks to Paul McKenna for the cutting.

Whilst most people at this time of year think back over the last 52 weeks and reminisce about closeness to friends and family, spare a thought for little Tynemooth Mallinson. Dave B takes up the story (queue the ‘Our Tune' music and... )

It’s already been mentioned on the web site message board that Arran was fairly hammered on the train back after the Spurs game. So - as you do - he nodded off to the rhythmic swaying of the train carriage and the drone of Mal and Si’s shite patter as they tried to impress the female company present - with Tom's jokes (Tom was on holiday).

Arran was sound. So much so that failed to get off at Leeds - or even Wakey - and made it all the way to Sheffield before his bladder made him stir.

Anyone sober and alert would of course have jumped on the first train back to Leeds. But Arran was neither.
In a new slant on the ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ lifeline Phone a Friend’. Arran rang a mate in Worksop and asked him to pick him up and take him home.

So some time later this bloke turns up accompanied by wife and five week old baby daughter! He duly drove Arran up to Rothwell, then returned to Worksop, a total distance of 93 miles according to the RAC. Mind, Arran reckons that he slipped this by now probably ex-friend a canny wad for his trouble.

Now as he’d been sat with Mal and Si on the train you’d have expected one of them to give him a kick at Leeds. But because both of them have got ‘nads like coconuts they’d forgotten about Arran in their bush-quest.

After the first female interest got off at York, they both shot-off down a couple of carriages to chat to Kat and her mam and dad, testosterone charged they then got off the train at Leeds without giving a second thought to Arran. Bless!

Anyways. Merry Xmas. Have a good ‘un an’ aall that....fcuka’sl

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No 3.1 - Miiiiss Ciillaaahh Black

The voice of the nation apparently. This tiresome, ginger Scahse git put the ITV and Dishy Des (The Sun’s words not mine!) back on the graveyard shift. This is the same woman that, along with Phil Collins and Frank Bruno, said she would leave the country if a Labour government were to gain power.

Well go on, they’ve been in the best part of four years, what you waiting for? Just fcuk off and take the other two tosspots with you.
One good point though, the football on telly will no longer interfere with Aaran's Saturday night bathtime rug-a-tug shenanigans.

No 3.2 - Frank Le Booeeuuuff

Not content with whining his baldy French t*ts off at every available opportunity during his far-too-long stay on these shores, the former host of Channel 4’s Crystal Maze has dared to rant about the English game, albeit from the safety of his French Cha(Shit)eau.

The Chronicle ran the story on 31.10.01:-
Meanwhile Frank Leboeuf, who was named in yesterday’s squad, has described Alan Shearer as the ugly face of Premiership football. In an interview the former Chelsea defender, now with Marseille, said: “What you don’t find in French football is a forward like A/an Shearer, who thinks first to break your nose before tiying to get the ball. Another difference is that you can control the ball without fearing an attack in your back by a forward. That’s the truth about the English game.”

Three petit words:-Soft as fcukin’ merd!

No 3.3 - Douglas Hall

Not content with making a right merry boll*cks of our club in the papers in ‘98, the serial tosspot has gone and left Gateshead FC in the lurch by refusing to stump up a miserly (to him) £60,000... .barely enough to pay for two mud-wrestling call girls to perform in front of him and his ‘mates’. Then there’s this snippet from the FT (posh man’s Pink) via
Four Newcastle United directors have received bonuses worth more than £400k despite the company recently reporting a full-year loss of £8..9m. Mr Hall, a non-executive director, was given a bonus of £75k, taking his pay from £35k to £110k.
Do us all a favour you stingy kerb crawler.. .get yourself a cup of bromide tea and get a pair of wire clippers to get into your wallet. ‘Cause if you don’t, I can’t see the good townsfolk of the Old Fold and the Felling etc. welcoming you with open arms in the future.. ..or you getting any good press from John Gibson.


No 2 - John Berresford

Just when you thought I’d lost all of my seasonal cheer, here it is, Canny Lad no 3.
Quite simply, the best blonde left back that we’ve seen at St. James’ in the last 8 years that we signed from Portsmouth. He told Keegan that his game plan was ‘fcuking sh*t” and lived to tell the tale, despite having to put up with one of KK’s huff-ins. A fantastic TV football pundit, who really could, and should, go on to bigger and better things  he’s even invented a ball on a piece of elastic!
At the Toon he had a fantastic strike rate of 3.57%. That’s 8 goals in 224 appearances and gained a call up to the full England squad.
A Sheffield-born Yorkshireman himself and now plying his trade in the Unibond at Ossett Town, did I mention that he’s wanted by the Yorkshiremags as their Club President?
Nee offence John, just having a go! Canny Lad!

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(No, not Harry Kewell's bird off Emmerdale, but a selection of members pooches)

Gary Lloyds mongrel ‘Lucky’. “I hate taking him for walks, it can be very embarrassing” admits Gary “’cause he can rattle a poodle and have a slash at the same time!”

This is JT’s 2 year old miniature pug called Tukkinek. Any resemblance?
When Dave Wheeler isn’t shagging tramps in bus station toilets he likes to relax with his incontinent terrier ‘Mucky’. “I like nothing better than rambling through the park on an Autumnal morning and sh*tting under a tree with Mucky”.

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No 1 of 1 - The Farmers

The Farmers (Rest) on the corner of the old ‘Kebab Row’ and the entrance to the underground bus Station at Eldon Square. Or Percy Street for those of you less familiar with the Toon.

Pulled down in ‘96 to make way for the middle class Ponteland snobs that only eat fodder that has graced the chill cabinets of the afore mentioned retail giant and six-fingered Hexham and Berwick dwellers, now had a spanking new bus station from which to alight into the ‘Big City’. A petition was drawn up to prevent closure, with a certain amount of success. The developer agreed that a replacement pub should be built nearby. Most regulars seemed fairly content with this until the fcukin’ monstrosity that is Old Orleans was unveiled with it’s ‘cajun feel’ and Bourbon Street style decorative balconies. Needless to say, the countless Goths, Grebos, Punks, Skins and Mags that frequented the old Farmers were a tad less than impressed. I don’t know where the Mags that were regulars drink now on a matchday. Nowhere in the surrounding area can quite match The Farmers.

For those of you too unfortunate or just too delicate to have graced this damn fine pub, let me just give you a rough idea of how great this pub was;

The highlight of a Saturday lunchtime in the Farmers was when someone would put ‘Ghost Train’ by Madness on the jukebox and the whole pub would sing along to the chorus “It’s black and white, don’t try to hide it..etc”. Now you’re lucky to hear the smash of pint pots from behind the bar in ‘no music policy’ Wetherspoons.

It was in the Farmers on a Wednesday night before a midweek cup match that I unwittingly aided and abetted a robbery of sorts. Chatting and supping, I was tapped on the shoulder by a seemingly innocent looking, but short-arsed bloke. He asked me to stand in front of him, as his mate had just come into the pub and he was trying to avoid him. So there I stood for a good 30 seconds or so, ignoring the little bloke behind me. Until I felt the urge to turn round. I looked down to see that the little bloke had disappeared, the coin access flap on the bandit had been prised open and a trail of coins led to the back door of the pub. Needless to say, I duly picked a few coins up and bought the next round of drinks with them. Just picture the scene, a scruffy old city centre pub (one of the few in the early 90’s that were permitted to sell Snakebite by the pint) a complete cross section of Mags and a jukebox to die for. The Jam, The Pistols, The Clash, Squeeze, The Buzzcocks, you get the idea.... pumping you up before the match. Cracking! Standing in the scoreboard, Oxo like napalm, outdoor toilets, jumpers for goal posts....mmmmm..., marvellous eh!

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that you just wouldn't.....

10. Pauline McLynn (Mrs Doyle) - Villa
Boiler rating: 7/10
Ropey, cantankerous, old and minging...bit like Doug Ellis really. Would you give her one? Oh, go aaann! Go aaann! Go aann! Etc.

9. Babs Windsor - Arsenal
Boiler rating: 9/10
Crude, lewd, mucky old cockerney, shag-a-round moll. Rumour has it that old Reggie Kray once took her up the Arsenal as a treat and from then on she was hooked.

8. Kenickie - Mackems
oiler rating: 11/10
Possibly the ugliest girlgroup ever? Smelly, mackem punk kids with spots. Just plain fcukin’ horrible. End of story.

7. Rusty Lee - Leicester
Boiler rating: 8/10
Giggly, one time Caribbean TV-AM chef. Definitely not a ‘Fox’ in our book.

6. Rachel Heyhoe-Flint - Wolves
Boiler rating: 10/10
Hoity-toity cricketing man/girl who looks like an extra from Tenko. No bloke would fancy hearing the smack of their balls on her ‘willow’ would they?

5. CilIa Black - Liverpool
Boiler rating: 10/10
Ginger, teddy-throwing, bossy-boots. Supports The ‘Pool because their kit is the same colour as her box. Apparently.

4. Jo Brand - Palace
Boiler rating:15/10
Obese, man-hating, rooks-nest haired comic. Once played as the entire Palace back four in ‘96-’97 season. Fact.

3. Sue Perkins (Light Lunch) - Toon
Boiler rating: 6/10
Pseudo-lesbo Harry Potter look-a-like. I’ve never seen her in Wetherspoons before the game have you? Probably sharing a “light lunch” in the ‘no smoking’ section with Barclay.

2. Laura Davies - Liverpool
Boiler rating: 7/10
A scouser who is a demon with the clubs. but you still wouldn’t fancy playing a-round with her, or getting a hole in one even. You’d need two gallon at the nineteenth hole to fancy this old boot!

1. Lisa Riley - Man Utd
Boiler rating: 15.5/10
Granny’s favourite and scourge of the Granada TV canteen. Hosts a show featuring predictable, clumsy people and mildly entertaining babies. Much like Wes Brown and Becks respectively.

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ASK ALAN......

The Yorkshiremags very own Agony Uncle!
Dear Uncle Alan (from D of Durham)

I have recently moved into a house in Durham and am at a bit of a loss with what to do with my evenings. The local football team are not very good, I don’t know many people, so I spend a lot of my time on the internet and cataloguing my collection of records from the 70’s and 80’s. Can you help?

For some people, it's very difficult when you move to make new friends. Have you thought about calling round next door to borrow a cup of sugar? Rather than catalogue your records alphabetically, why not do it by genre? If you are that interested in music, why don’t you go out and join a band. You could try talking to club members Tom or Keith.

Dear Uncle Alan (from A of Methley)

A couple of months ago I went out and bought myself a new Renault Clio. Someone just came up to me in the pub the other day and told me it was French. What shall I do?

I suggest you throw away the pink furry dice you have hanging from the mirror and replace them with 2 bulbs of garlic. However, in order to keep the flag flying you could always put a GB sticker on your boot lid. 

Dear Uncle Alan (from T of Pudsey)

I have spent most of my life at school and now when I go to sleep I dream of Key Stages and the National Curriculum. Is this normal?

I think you should visit you local genito- urinary department as soon as possible. The address should be in your phonebook under ‘hospitals’. Any discharges should be treated seriously, so don’t put off making an appointment.

Dear Uncle Alan (from M of Leeds and G2K of Sheffield)

I have been given a rather unfortunate nick name by my fellow supporters and as I hope to stand as a JP this could cause me some embarrassment. What should I do?

What a coincidence that two of you should write in on the same subject! Try talking a cold shower when you get up in the morning or going for a brisk walk.


Dear Uncle Alan (from K of Wakefield)


I usually starch mine and find it helps keep the head nice and erect.

  Dear Uncle Alan (from G of Wakefield)

I have always been good at DIY and now our lass has asked me to install a “lavender walkway”. Can you advise?

Just make sure you have finished installing it, you are not still bending over when your friends call round.

Dear Uncle Alan (from P of Bramhope)

How can I convince the club members that I exist rather than being a clever ruse to claim life insurance and not pay council tax?

Mortgage rates have never been so low, so I would suggest you opt for a 5 year fixed term, and see if you can get a discounted rate as well. Put some money in an easy access account, and don’t forget to take out a will.

Dear Uncle Alan (from D of London)

I have gone to live and work in London, but realise that with me wearing my designer clothes and talking with a Sunderland accent, no-one knows I am a Geordie. How can I get people to believe I am from the Toon?

The simplest way is to start wearing your Toon top to work, in fact wear it at all times. People will snigger at first and whisper” 27” behind your back, but after a while the white areas will get dirty and it will stop. You could also put up signed pictures of past and present Newcastle stars in your pub: I could even lend you Alan Gowling and Frank Pingel to start you off.
Dear Uncle Alan (from K of Baildon)

I used to be a well known celebrity and Driver of the Year, taking members to home and away matches on a regular basis. Now everyone talks about my driving behind my back and goes on the train. What should I do?

I can understand why you are upset but It was a serious accident you had, although it wasn’t your fault that one of the members was sat on a bottle of dog just when you went over that bump: you couldn’t really be blamed for the detour to A&E for him to have it extracted. Continue to take regular multi-vitamins and I’m sure all will get back to normal again.

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Voice of (Un)Reason

A monthly feature in which our very own "Raging Gnome" discusses life, the universe and...

Dotty owld fcukers flirtin’ wi’ young bush what they’ve aany just met an’ leavin’ me akip on the train!
What the fcukin fcuks aall tharraboot man? Nee need forrit! Thanks lads, cost me fowty knicker to git hyem from Sheffield. Yud think they hadn’t seen a bord in yeors the way they’re gannin’ on. Yuz wanna git yasels roond Cass on a Sarrada neet man. It’s craalin’ wi’ bush. An’ yer can touch ‘em on the sly an’ aall if yer careful. Anyways Mal and Si, next time it happens a'll kick me fowty quid taxi fare oot o' yer plums. Sly Bast*rds!

Andy fcukin' D'Urso
Contrary bast*rd! How can yer send Al off ‘cause yer bum-chum linesman tells ye te, then two days after say ye were wrang!?!? Howhere man! At least have the courage of yer constrictions an’ aall that! Wor ex lass used te be like that mind! She used te say “Arran, de ye fancy an orly neet” an’ wink arrus an’ aall that. Then as soon as I gets me duds off, she sez she doesn’t fancy it anymore! I hate indecisiveness, I aalwuz have... .or I think I aalwuz have. Anyways, D’Urso. Get it reet next time or I’ll tek the pea oot o’ yer fcukin’ whistle an’ ram it up yer japs eye! Nee fcukin’ messin’!

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Hi kids, Krazy Keith here. This month I’ve devised some ‘politically correct’ fun for you all.
From the list below, can you guess as to which Yorkshiremags club members I am referring to? One point for each correct answer

She is not dumb - She is a ‘detour off the information super highway’
She has not been around - She is a ‘previously enjoyed companion’
She is not an airhead - She is ‘reality impaired’
He does not get drunk or tipsy - He becomes ‘chemically inconvenienced’
She does not nag - She becomes ‘verbally repetitive’
He does not have a beer gut - He has developed a ‘liquid grain storage facility’
He is not a bad dancer - He is ‘overtly Caucasian’
He does not get lost all the time - He ‘investigates alternative destinations’
He is not balding - He is in ‘follicle regression’
He is not a cradle snatcher - He prefers ‘generationally differential relationships’
He does not get falling down drunk - He becomes ‘accidentally horizontal’
He does not act like a total arse - He develops a case of ‘rectal-cranial inversion’
He is not a male chauvinist pig - He has’swine empathy’
He is not afraid of commitment - He is ‘monogamously challenged’

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A monthly feature in which our very own Dave Wheeler gives you the lowdown on the best places in the UK to “rake your cage out......

Och! I diwen’t ken whether yiz are aall aware but I’m livin’ in the capital noo! It’s braw!
I’m livin’ wi’ a queer fella noo. His name’s Soapy Joe. He must have heard aboot me toilet misdemeanours because after I moved in wi’ him above ma new pub, he asked me if I fancied goin’ oot for a drink, just tae git aquainted like. Well we went tae this pub in Walthamstow and it was packed mon! Crivens, I couldnae git moved for people standin at the bar, anyway, I finds masen’ a seat at the bar while Soapy went off tae git served. A few minutes later, I spot him strugglin’ through the crowd wi’ the drinks and when he gets to me he cannae git past ma seat. “Excuse me” he whispers in ma lug “can I push your stool back?” so I replies “Aye! Course ye can hen, just wait ‘til I’ve finished ma drink eh?” Noo because o’ this change in ma sexual practices, I have no real jobby stories to relay to y’all this month. Maybe next issue I’ll hae some  when ma sphincter’s gone back tae it’s normal size.

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