ST Francis of Sales should not be confused with the January Sales. He was a 17th century Bishop of Geneva who once observed that more flies were attracted by a spoonful of honey than by a barrel full of vinegar, and for that or reasons yet more compelling, became the patron saint of journalists.

St Francis himself, therefore, would be proud of the confession box candour which characterises today's column: if it's excitement you want, best turn to the Lost and Founds instead.

Almost breathlessly in recent weeks we have pointed readers towards gems like the Hole in the Wall in Darlington, the Ship in High Hesleden and the Golden Lion in Osmotherley.

This week, though the miles have been covered and the platters licked clean, there is nothing more sensational to report than the outing of Mr Lee Robinson and the purchase of Mr and Mrs Smallwood's fibre optic Christmas tree, half price (since it was January 23) on Northallerton market.

Pulses might also race a little faster, come to think, at the price of a pint at Newcastle Airport, but that's a little further down the runway.

IT'S not that the Ship in Middlestone Village isn't a superb pub, rather that we and others have been extolling for ages the transformation wrought by Graham and Liz Snaith.

(The first night we went, there was an eclipse - which probably explains how we managed to walk headlong into a tree, a genuine case of bark and bite.)

Last week the pub was named runner-up in the Campaign for Real Ale's national Pub of the Year competition, an excuse on Wednesday evening to toast their success and to check that there was a full moon.

Middlestone, not to be confused with Middlestone Moor, is a mile south-west of Kirk Merrington. Frequently, there may be more in the pub than live in the village.

The Ship is hugely welcoming, immaculately kept, and always offers four ever-changing real ales - last Wednesday including Blonde (gentlemen prefer it) from Daleside, White Friar from the Durham Brewery and Parson's Pledge, from Darwin.

Also in attendance was Mr Robinson, pictured in Here's-to-You pose in Tuesday's paper with a celebratory pint in his hand. Since he is a perfectly pleasant fellow we have warned him of the exposure to come; even in so hallowed a real ale haven, Lee - out, out - drinks Smooth.

CAMRA's 2002 Good Beer Guide lists 5,000 pubs. Landlord and regulars at the Ship between them hope to visit every one this year and to provide evidence of their calling.

"Proof" may simply be a letter-head or beer mat. At least one pub, the Mill Race in Wolsingham, offered a meal for two - which will be auctioned for charity - as more substantial testimony to their support.

Since by last Wednesday the Ship's crew had managed just 159, already 156 behind target, the column has selflessly offered assistance.

Particularly we hope at the end of April to raise a glass at the Old Forge in Inverie, the most remote pub on the British mainland and accessible only by a 15-mile walk over the Scottish Highlands or by occasional ferry - the likely choice - from Mallaig.

Its atmosphere, says the Good Beer Guide, is informal - "dress code being wellies, waterproofs and midge cream."

The pint-pullers' progress is regularly updated on www.wearvalleycamra.co.uk/shipinn.htm. More on their voyages later.

DOWN the road from Middlestone to the Venh Ly House takeaway in Coundon, a cheerless place on a teeming night. On the basis of what little we ate before consigning supper to the nearest waste bin, the kindest that may be said is that it is possibly the best fish and chip place in Coundon. Then again, there may be two.

IT was intended to be a column on airport catering, to which end we took the Metro to Newcastle Airport and were greeted on arrival by a large list of fare dodgers, named and (presumably) shamed.

Between November 5 and November 30, 132 had had to pay £15,635 in fines and costs - one from Aberdeen, another from Buckinghamshire, a third fare copped from West Cornforth.

On the concourse first floor, Cushie Butterfield's pub advertised "Great choice of pub food", which was also a great big whopper since there was no food at all. It was Tuesday, 6.30pm, and this was an international airport.

"Try the Food Court," said the barman, having first extracted £2.35 for a pint of Boddington's, and the Food Court was only just in session, too.

There was no soup, no cajun chicken, no red peppers, no Tasty Temptations - from the Hyperbolic Pudding Company, perhaps - and precious little sign of life at all.

If not terminal, the place was clearly in a pretty bad way.

At quiet times, said a notice, food would be cooked to order. This took approximately 10.3 seconds, a steak and ale pie that the King of the Rechabites might have eaten without ever supposing that he'd broken the pledge.

It was limp, listless and lukewarm, the chips little better. The peas were of the sort that make you wonder how, with so uncomplicated a vegetable, the taste can differ so greatly from what is expected.

If this is the best the International Airport can do then no wonder folk can't wait to get away; if this was the Food Court then - like the Metro miscreants - they're as guilty as sin.

IN Caf Martyn at Teesside Airport the music system played Trains and Boats and Planes, which seemed only partly appropriate.

Whilst there may have been a few planes kicking about, the Tees out the back is not noticeably navigable and Teesside Airport railway station offers long-standing testament to empty talk of integrated transport.

There is one stopping train a week in each direction - 10.25 on Saturdays towards Saltburn, 13.41 back. This was Thursday, and even if there'd been something in the timetable, the blighters were on strike.

Caf Martyn is part of what is now the Spa Hotel, owned by the same people as the Spa at Saltburn and popular with people flying Chinooks to the North. "Nestled in the airport grounds," says the brochure, nonsensically.

We took Mr and Mrs Smallwood, buoyed by their recent Christmas tree acquisition - "changes colour like a cuttlefish" said Mrs Smallwood, knowledgeably, though cuttlefish may achieve the effect without the benefit of fibre optics.

Both enthused about the £6.95 three-course lunch.

Eric began with the salad forestiere, with bacon and croutons and things; Patti had the same without the bacon and followed with cod and prawn roulade ("a really piquant sauce"). Eric - a man who knows his food - had the lamb with mint gravy and suggested ten out of ten. Puddings were fine.

The verdict, however, wasn't unanimous. Still, it's economy class without risk of DVT and before take-off today, you probably can't ask for more.

THE effusive piece last week on the Hole in the Wall in Darlington Market Place should probably have made it clearer that the full menu is only available in the evening, Mondays and Wednesday to Saturday. For the moment, Thai meals are served at lunchtime. Apologies to those who were misled.

* and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what an archaeologist was.

Someone whose career is in ruins.