JRT, I was most gratified to learn that the incumbent Tom cat had escaped the more base intentions of your dog. I nearly fell off my chair laughing at your story. We too have a Tom cat from next door who bugs the hell out our Jack Russell "Will Penny". She has worn her legs down at least 2 inches running along the base of the fence in the forlorn hope that the cat will fall off. Best wishes to your Grandson, poor little fella being poorly this time of year. I'll a-wager he'll have more,un nough JRT spirit to see off that flu.
Glad to hear that you are now fully informed on the GSDF's manifesto. As you know, some of the fiercest clashes of the whole "Gongs Conflict" occured here in the North East of England where SNAFU has always enjoyed strong support. His name is still highly revered in these parts, and to this day anyone with a beard is still treated with deep suspicion. Why only the other day in Tow Law, a mob set upon a man in the high street and only the last minute intervention of a police patrol saved Santa Claus on his way to the Grotto at Debenhams department store. The anniverary of that fateful day of battle will soon be upon us. On that day, a procession will quietly set out from the Co-op superstore at Annitsford and climb the 5 miles up Tow Law Bank, past the old Steel Mill and the disused Colliery to the SNAFU Memorial stone outside the Frog and Mallett on Tavern Hill. People remember the pivotal confrontation at "Tavern Hill", where a greatly outnumbered group of SNAFU loyalists held off wave after wave of howling JRT supporters on the steps of the "Frog and Mallett" for several hours before finally being overcome by the sheer weight of superlative prose. I remember vividly standing at the foot of those steps in the aftermath of that tumultous afternoon, surveying as far as the eye could see, the detritus of that desperate debate lying all around me in every direction. Spent beer cans, empty biro boxes, half open dictionarys, dicarded floppy discs, broken keyboards and abandoned standards of the great man himself, fluttering forlornly in the gentle evening breeze. I remember the heroic stand of an unknown SNAFU standard bearer at the foot of the steps, beset on all sides by rampaging JRT Huscarles, before being finally struck down with a blunt Theosaurus. I remember his last, immortal words, those that have gone down in the folklore and legend of this area - "C'mon Lads, the bars open in ten minutes". Many around here will spare a few moments to remember those who didn't come back that afternoon, mainly because they went up the road to the "Duck & Whistle", and there will be a few tears shed and shoulders cried on. Many say that the industrial past of this area, with its old mines, shipyards, steel mills and assembly shops, its grimy streets and rough culture, have produced a tough breed of men and women inured to the daily grind of life, those who have a natural propensity to support the underdog and who are not afraid of a bit of hard work. I say thats "B-----ks, they just drink a lot.
