THERE are two daily editorial conferences hereabouts, lunch and teatime, at which the content and emphasis of the following day's paper is decided. The column seldom darkens the door, save to lower the tone or to find out the cricket score.

Last Tuesday, there was a third conference, pub and restaurant guides spread across this desk, recommendations file revisited, sundry seniors consulted. Where next to eat out, and thus to fill a hole?

The deputy editor exhumed the joke about being like a pilot light - he never goes out, either - the assistant editor confessed that he'd taken the family for a meal, but no further than McDonald's. The editor, inconsiderately, was on holiday.

Eventually we determined for Durham, where always something seems new, and were 15 miles up the A1 when the downpour began. Wary of a city centre soaking, we turned right instead of left at the A690 and ended up at the Star of Siam, East Rainton.

It's a former mining village between Durham and Sunderland, "Star of Siam" and "East Rainton" seeming almost to be an oxymoron, a figure of speech in which contradictory terms are combined.

Katharine and Manit Limatana had similar worries when first they set up shop - a newsagency - in the North-East. There were no Thai restaurants at all, now it's the flavour of the decade.

Katharine's from Peterlee, Manit - known to his friends as Yei - from Bangkok. Yei is Thai for "big", Manit is small, Little John in reverse. There's probably a figure of speech for that, too.

They met 30 years ago in Bournemouth, eventually opened the Star of Siam in the MetroCentre, bought a guest house in East Rainton and developed it into the expansive Highfield Hotel, of which the restaurant is part.

Like France, or was it Iraq, the restaurant is huge, can seat 195 and on Saturdays often does. There's a long conservatory cum veranda, like all those seafront hotels in Blackpool, so that you expect a fairylit tram to trundle along, or a drop dead donkey, or a vacancy of young men who've left their brains in the boarding house.

The Star of Siam is different, though through the rain it was possible to discern the bright lights of Shiney Row, or somewhere.

The bar had figures of elephants pushing logs and a notice urging customers and their children not to sit on them. There was electric Theakston's, a friendly barmaid, comfortable sofas.

Restaurant guests are greeted in tradition fashion by Mem, a charming, broad-smiling and traditionally dressed Thai lady who gives audible explanation to flip-flops and on quieter nights also helps at tables and assists with pronunciation.

That food always seems monosyllabic, of course - yum tha lay, pad prig sod (that's an aromatic stir-fry), and nua nam mun hoey, perhaps known among associates as Kate.

On the tables, a little card announces that the royal Thai government has awarded "more than 35 Thai restaurants" a mark of excellence for quality, authenticity, diversity and refinement and that the Star's one of them - as well, with hindsight, it might be.

It's a curious phrase, for all that. How many's more than 35? 36, 36 million, or what? We sometimes succumb to the same inexact science on the paper; it's been mentioned in editorial conferences.

Tom yum kai, sour and spicy chicken soup with mushrooms, came in a huge pot warmed over a flame and - though The Boss was sorting out a dish of steamed green mussels in an exquisite sauce of lemon and perhaps Ricard - with two bowls and spoons.

It's a Thai custom, indicative of their hospitality. The Star of Siam is immensely hospitable, hugely relaxing and very comfortable. Peals of laughter would occasionally emerge from the kitchen, suggesting either that the staff were quite enjoying themselves as well or that they'd sub-let to the East Rainton mothers' meeting.

The Boss followed with homok talay, a spicy and altogether excellent fish stew of mussels, prawn, crab and scallops strong on lemon grass and garlic.

The stir fried duck with crispy noodles was perhaps not the best bet - too much sauce, too much shirt front down which to relocate it - but looked terrific and tasted fine.

On another table, a couple were willingly given a doggy bag. "Breakfast," they said, though whether for themselves or the doggy was never properly explained.

Puddings are proprietary, mostly ice cream based. Unsolicited, two spoons arrived with one dish. We're happy to share the Star of Siam, too, and not just for a rainy day.

* The Star of Siam, Highfield Hotel, East Rainton (0191) 584-8745. Open seven days until late; Monday to Saturday business lunch £7.95. No problems for the disabled.

YET more Thai dishes at the Croxdale Inn, between Spennymoor and Durham, through retiring British Boxing Board of Control man Dave Ogilvie opted for good old steak and kidney pie. It floored him. "I don't normally eat that much in a week," he said. Other portions much the same.

THAI green curry, too, at the newly configured Bar Size in Darlington - the latest among numerous incarnations for those licensed premises on Skinnergate.

For donkeys years it was a mind-your-own-business pub called the Bowes, was curiously transmogrified into the Eccentric Inventor, became Bierrex and has now re-emerged as Bar Size, probably best described as minimalist but in truth like a post-modern engine shed, only with white walls.

"It's what they call an aspirational bar," said the budding journalist for whom we stood lunch. The aspirations aren't those of the bar, apparently, but of those who like to be seen there.

All the column aspired to - or hoped for, at any rate - was a decent pint of beer. This was John Smith's Smooth.

The barmaid was reading about the Dr Atkins Diet, though the menu gave little heed to it - chilli, ciabatta, cheeseburgers and other staples of that genre.

The curry came with rice, poppadoms and some chutney in a bowl the shape of a horse trough. It was cheap and plentiful but as hot as an Eskimo's extremities and as spicy as an early issue of the Bunty.

The other strange thing was the plate kept sliding down the table, as if the eccentric inventor still stalked the earth. The revamp's not aimed at 50-odds; if it were, the inventor would be back to the drawing board.

OUR man in Iran, to whose clandestine drinking habits we have previously referred, e-mails with news that the price of a small can of Titanic has risen "astronomically" to £10. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I've decided to become teetotal," he says.

....and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what crazy worms sing.

Mad-wriggles, of course.