TOMORROW'S Saturday column was supposed to be about my favourite dingly dell, Leven Bridge. Whenever I pass through there, down its steeply wooded banks, past the decaying grandeur of its ancient pub, I am transported back to the days of highwaymen and horse traffic.

It is such a secluded dingly dell. Any unsuspecting traveller who turned off the Great North Road at the Entercommon turnpike north of Great Smeaton and headed towards Yarm would stumble into the dell. In the dark, no prying eye could protect him, and he was bound to emerge up the other side completely robbed and striped naked.

In light of this week's news that the Leven Bridge, described in the paper as 19th Century, had been so badly undermined that it is now closed for three months, I decided that a little research would fulfil my fantasy and fill a lurid column.

No such luck. Nothing interesting has ever happened at Leven Bridge, although it was a popular little daytrip for Teessiders in the 1950s who picnicked on the small sandy beach beside the river.

The earliest mention of the bridge that I could find was 1582 when there were legal proceedings about access to it through Ingelby Summer Field and down Leven Bank.

But that's about it. Certainly no highwaymen hanging out in the Cross Keys, although the landlord there during the 1940s and 1950s was Billy Eden.

He was born in Stockton in 1905 and signed for Darlington FC in March 1928. A nippy right-winger, he was Darlo's leading scorer (11 in 30 games) in 1928-29 and then signed for Sunderland for £1,250. He spent three years there, but didn't go beyond the fringes and in November 1932, Darlo re-signed him for £500. By March 1935, he was playing for Tranmere Rovers with whom he won the Division 3 (North) title in 1937-38. He must then have retired to the Cross Keys, and he died in Darlington in November 1993.

But that's my lot from the dingly dell, so instead I decided to write Saturday's column about something far more substantial: the history of the donkey jacket. I only hope I haven't made an ass of myself.