My old Grandad was born, bred and lived all his life in North Shields. I well remember him taking me to see the fishing 'bwoats' and being thrown a herring by a man, for our tea. My Grandad tried to teach me Blaydon Races. He took me to his local pub, thick Players smoke, cloth caps and whippets. I was four. He sat me on the bar and I began to sing. But I was a rather posh little Middlesex girl, and sang "All the leds end lesses thear, All with smailing faices, going along the Scotswood Road... to see the Bleeding Races." The men roared, but my poor Grandad wasn't best pleased! (I couldn't understand a word my Granny said, except "Eeee!")