LYRICAL latecomer to the world wide whatsit, Chris Willsden in Darlington not only discovers on the Internet the Gadfly Guide to Marketing - "On the one hand a gadfly is positive, a stimulus; on the other it's just annoying, a persistent irritating critic, a nuisance" - but also Gadfly Records of Burlington, Vermont.

The record company even produces $12.50 T-shirts with the slogan "Bored of bland? Get some Gadfly."

Chris generously says he'd have sent one - "but they don't do extra-extra large."

A PORTENT of advancing years, last week's column feeble-mindedly wondered why there are signs announcing Co Durham - "Land of the Prince Bishops" - on the road from Piercebridge to Royal Oak, three miles north of the Tees.

As many readers have with much gentleness pointed out, they simply mark the comparatively new and geographically bizarre boundary between the Borough of Darlington and the County of Durham.

Why the border should be in the middle of someone's field is neither here nor there, however: what angers many is that the titular County of Durham is no longer between Tyne and Tees.

When the new Bishop of Durham is ceremonially greeted on Croft Bridge, south of Darlington, for example, he will enter the Diocese of Durham but not the bureaucratic Land of the Prince Bishops.

That, whichever foot he may put forward, is still getting on ten miles up the road.

HOMEWARD after giving a talk in Heighington the other night, local historian David Simpson was "surprised and saddened" to discover another Prince Bishops sign between Heighington and Aycliffe.

Such indicators ignore centuries of local history, he says - "merely flags of ownership erected by administrators jealously staking a claim to their territory."

Co Durham, David agrees, should be between Tyne and Tees and a distinction drawn between the "historically and culturally proud County of Durham" and the administrative territory of Durham County Council.

"The signposts," he adds, "are dishonest, historically inaccurate and as meaningless as the numbered zones in Washington new town."

PAUL Dobson from Bishop Auckland was as annoyed to discover the "Prince Bishops" sign near Heighington railway station as he was surprised by a sign that Auckland Park, near his home, is now in the Dene Valley.

Harold Heslop not only agrees that the Prince Bishops signs are idiotic but points us towards the southbound A68, immediately over the river near Witton-le-Wear, where the road sign announces that it is Teesdale.

"Clearly you are still in Weardale and have yet to cross and rise above the Gaunless Valley before any rational being could think it was Teesdale."

Peter Elliott in Eaglescliffe - Eaglescliffe, Co Durham, he insists, whatever the border guard might say - was equally peeved to find several signs near Yarm welcoming motorists to Richmondshire.

"This is obviously because the district boundary crosses and re-crosses the road at these points, but it's all rather silly and an awfully long way from Richmond."

Why, he adds, can't they have Co Durham signs marking the old boundaries. "Many of us who live in Stockton and Hartlepool feel we are in limbo and not in any county at all."

Thanks also to Bob Heward, to Russ Addison and to Philip Ewan in Darlington who not only points out a "Land of the Prince Bishops" sign on the A66, between the boroughs of Stockton and Darlington, but offers a simple solution.

"Should ephemeral local authorities be called county councils at all? The term would be better reserved for the historic counties," he argues and in doing so, draws perfectly the line.

SO Durham's new bishop will cross Croft Bridge, be handed the falchion said to have slain the Sockburn worm - a menace not least because of its halitosis, they reckon - and assume some sort of spiritual symbolism.

May he also be the last Bishop of Durham whose episcopal empire ends at the southern bank of the Tyne?

A highly placed clergyman of our acquaintance not only forecast that Martin Wharton, the present Bishop of Newcastle, would be translated to Durham but that because of the financial problems facing the Church of England the two dioceses would be united, perhaps as the Diocese of Northumbria.

It won't happen now. "Next time," says our man in the ministry, "I'd bet the collection plate on it."

FROM Croft Bridge to the Sockburn Peninsula the River Tees is all over the place, more twists than an early 60s hit parade.

Two or three miles as a crow might journey, twice as long by paper boat, sits the hamlet of Girsby - four houses, when last we counted, and the lovely little church that officially is All Saints, Sockburn.

Girsby is best known for the artistic Alderson sisters, Dorothy and Elizabeth, who began a canvass at either end and met, seamlessly, in the middle.

Though on the southern bank and therefore in Yorkshire - until the next local government re-organisation, anyway - the church, uniquely, is in the Diocese of Durham.

It is not that meandering course to which we wish to draw attention, however, rather the origin of Girsby's name.

Recent columns have had much fun with the dialect word "gis", revealed last week to come from the Old Norse "gris", meaning pig.

Folk in Girsby, delightful spot, probably knew that already. As David Simpson points out, it simply means "pig village."

ANXIOUS to continue the pig tale, Alan Wood in Billingham recalls that in 50 years working on North-East farms the term "gissy pig" - like "cushy cow" - was in almost universal use.

"At feeding time the pigman would most likely stand at the gate and shout 'Gis, gis, gis'.

The pigs always came running. You could bet your life they understood."

APART from the amazing Aldersons, the region's best known sisters may have been Ailie and Dorothy Redfearn who not only ran the village post office at Forest-in-Teesdale, above High Force, but for 32 years but were the telephone operators, too.

The Forest-in-Teesdale exchange had just 39 subscribers before the sisters' number came up and the exchange switched to STD in 1969, the last in the region to go anonymously automatic.

Miss Ailie would be up from 6am, Miss Dorothy on the switchboard until one o'clock next morning. A bedroom alarm stirred slumbers thereafter. They could neither take joint holidays nor together attend the little Ebenezer Chapel up the road.

Both, memory impels, were awarded the BEM. Several years ago we bumped into a member of the Redfearn family who was writing a biography of Britain's most unlikely Forest workers and promised a copy on completion.

If ever it were finished, it would be wonderful to see it - and we can't ring you....

SO finally, a note from the ever-vigilant Janet Murrell in Durham who encloses a cutting from The Independent: "A chemical fed to farmed salmon and chicken to colour fish and egg yolks has been shown to harm human eyesight...."

Sure as eggs is eggs, says Janet, yolks isn't yokes. Stimulus or the other thing, get some more Gadfly next week.