MORE astute readers will have realised that the bairns whose humour has for 20 years brought these columns to an aptly absurd end are now growing up a bit.

The younger lad is six weeks into a postgraduate journalism course at Cardiff University, already having speeded up his shorthand to 70wpm, visited most of the capital's finer watering holes and developed a taste for Merthyr Tydfil FC.

The quality of Merthyr, he says, is surprisingly high.

Homeward from a family visit, the lad having imparted all he knows, we called for lunch into the Castle Arms at Snape, near Bedale in North Yorkshire. It proved something to write home about, too, an absolutely first rate village pub in which in which the only problem was Jeremy Vine and Radio 2.

Two's company, no doubt, but who needs it - or any other radio station - in a pub?

This one's said to date back to the 14th century, the castle at the other end of the street once a residence of Catherine Parr. Half of it's for sale; an Englishman's home from home.

A handsome fire burns in a magnificent fireplace, floors are stone flagged, ceilings beamed. The menu's imaginative and available seven lunchtimes and evenings, cooking's careful, immaculately kept real ales from Jennings.

Sandra Haxby, Michael Parker and their staff offer a relaxed and friendly welcome, particularly to the elderly or disabled. They blamed the wretched radio on the poor chef, who'd left it on too loud when leaving for the dentist's.

It has to be said that the waitress was rather attractive, too, though apparently not yet 15. "If she was mine," said a chatty old lady called Rhoda, "I'd lock her up at night."

Rhoda was 87 and thought her lunch "blooming lovely", too.

Breakfasted in the Brecon Beacons, due that evening at a dinner in Northumberland, we ate a single course lunch. Main courses ranged from pan roasted fillet of locally raised Angus beef with sauted mushrooms and blue Wensleydale cheese (£13.95) to fresh codling fillet in a crisp beer batter with chips and mushy peas (£6.95).

She had roast monkfish with Caesar salad - "a lovely combination" - we a succulent game and Cumberland Ale pie (£8.95). Both were preceded, unannounced, by lovely hot bread and about half a pound of butter.

Vegetables included chips, carrots, broccoli and particularly good red cabbage. Coffee came with delicious chocolates; the bill didn't reach £20.

It's close to Thorp Perrow arboretum, little more than ten minutes from Leeming Bar. If they ask how you heard about it, tell them - as might a chip off the old block or a reluctant Radio 2 listener - that you heard it on the Snape vine.

* The Castle Arms Inn, Snape, Bedale (01677) 470270. Open 12-3 and 7-11pm. Welcoming to the disabled.

BY no means for the first time, the column has been accused of setting a bad example. "Whenever you forsake real ale you go for Coke," writes Eric Gendle in Middlesbrough. "Surely you know how appalling it is?" Gendle touch, he adds (perhaps with some slight exaggeration) that every can contains enough phosphoric acid to derust half a Mini. No good, we'll just have to stick to the beer.

USUAL Government froth notwithstanding, CAMRA member Trevor Daynes in Darlington has been tackling ministers about the heady issue of a full pint.

It should be 20 fluid ounces; because of the absence of lined glasses, it frequently isn't. Trade and Industry secretary Alan Johnson has replied with what Trevor calls "political gobbledygook" - all about "consensus views" and "maintaining a fair balance between business and consumer interests".

Glass half empty or half full? "The Government," adds Mr Johnson, "has explored the question in considerable depth."

SUNDAY lunch at the New Board Inn, west of Durham and past Ushaw College, a bar with one of the finest pub views in the North-East - especially for Langley Park lads.

Sir Bobby, never much of a drinking man, may have sat for hours with his half of orange and water, gazing wistfully upon his heritage.

Officially atop Esh Hillside, and suitably welcoming, it seems almost vertiginously above the village, so great the effect that The Boss was reminded of something from Beatrix Potter about dropping things down folks' chimneys.

The view may be even more spectacular by night, but this was the calm after a wet Sabbath morning. The music machine played Beethoven's Pastorale, the bit called After the Storm.

Three course lunch is good value at £8.75, accompanying real ales including something called Silly Steps from the Fowlers Yard brewery in Durham - the Silly Steps the local name for the great flight which leads from across the road down and down until they land in Langley Park.

From a good selection, the lady began with melon and raspberries - tinned, she supposed - followed, of all things, by turkey. It was as rare as a white Christmas, but she enjoyed it, nonetheless.

We started with a large Yorkshire pudding and a decadent black pudding, sausage and onion gravy, then a steak, ale and mushroom pie.

A vast array of vegetables embraced three different potatoes, including cheesy mash which had been around a little too long.

It was a small blip. Someone really cares about this pub, the message clearly transmitted by good housekeeping and by friendly and efficient staff - enough staff, it might be said, to cut by half the local unemployment rate, at least on Sunday afternoons.

The waiters included an ice hockey fan keen to talk about the previous evening's Newcastle Vipers' game. "It was great," he enthused. "They had to bring on the ice machine to get the blood off the rink." Incorrigibly, we were reminded of the old joke about Geordie asking his mate to name a card game. Ice hockey, says his mate, much to Geordie's disgust.

"Why," says his mate, "it's the cardest game aa knaa."

We finished with an excellent rhubarb crumble and two spoons, even a strident smoke detector proving no cause for alarm.

Foolhardily thereafter, we descended the Silly Steps for an hour's post-prandial exploration of Langley Park life. There was much to walk off; well worth going by the Board.

WITH a rather neat blast across the bows, Chris Bailey at the Cumby Arms in Heighington seeks to scupper some of the claims made in a Trafalgar themed column three weeks ago.

William Pryce Cumby, Heighington lad, was one of Nelson's principal lieutenants. We'd found the ship named after him seemingly semi-abandoned, save for a few kids playing on the floor. England expected something rather better...

Chris insists that elsewhere there was a wedding party for 200, coincidentally dressed as pirates, the restaurant closed for the evening.

"Notwithstanding my modest understanding of historical figures, I was under the impression that Bonaparte was an egomaniac who could start a fight in an empty peninsular, surrounded by sycophants and wont to retire in ignominious fashion from any engagement in which he could not expect total victory.

"We are a family pub and powder monkeys are always welcome, but to suggest we are running an unsupervised creche is farcical."

....and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you call high-rise flats for pigs.

Sty scrapers, of course.

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