April 23, 2003
Minority Retort #3 by Jim Beresford
There is now a Legion of Shirt Sheen marching behind us and the taunting starts.
”I’m Free!!!”
Voices from long ago, but John Inman made us and I remember too late that my companion walks with him - and has a leg of the best MINCE running all the way up to his handbag.
“Where’s your handbag?!!!”
“Walk faster, dolly,” I hiss as my friend makes everything worse by making a silent film actress’ shocked gesture ( Lillian Gish ) and turning the heat right up on the mince.
Minority Retort number three : Deep Brown Inside.
Welcome once again to the Llareggub of arson and football. The other freezing day, returning from Lidl’s superstore, my sack all frozen and my attention was drawn to a gang of youths ( never ! ) circling a stripped to the waist bare knuckle fight in the shadow of the giant green corrugated hanger where the worlds first steam whippet-The Turbinia, was assembled. I took my place in the scrum next to a boy on crutches and rollerblades (a great way to move through life without a steam turbine ).
WOW! This is the real thing. Lots of nose- blood flying around and quick drying on the torsos… but the blows don’t make that film Foley-noise of planks-snapping Hollywood-style. NO. The Real Thing is more akin to yoghurt cartons being crunched. Cartilage Crunch. A little later after I had overcome my disgust (sic) I realised that this spat, this scrap was a red herring...no more than an excuse, for another Geordie tradition. That is : to get as much kit off on the street in freezing weather as possible whenever possible. Become one with the windchill.