WHEN Sir John Betjeman launched his famed aerial assault on middle Berkshire in 1937 - "Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough; it isn't fit for humans now" - he was fortunate for two reasons not to have been aiming at Billingham.

One is that Billingham town centre makes Slough resemble the Garden of Eden by comparison, the other - of course - that it's awfully hard to find a rhyme for Billingham.

The centre of Billingham chiefly comprises a carbuncular concrete shopping square of the sort which appears as user-friendly as a suicide pill, the recently reprieved Forum theatre and some egregious high rise flats, yet more egregiously named Kennedy Gardens.

"Kennedy Gardens?" screamed The Boss. "Where on earth are the gardens around there?"

In the seven o'clock square, a shivering group of young girls were drinking something they probably shouldn't have touched for several years; a small group of lads were on their skateboards.

A few years ago it was claimed - in a survey, so it must have been right - to be the cheapest place in Britain to shop. The estate agencies, even in these through the roof days, still offer three bedroomed semis for under £100,000.

At the Forum, however, many more folk were heading to a performance of the Nutcracker Suite by the Moscow City Ballet, history's first example of using a Nutcracker to hammer a stereotype.

The Moscow City Ballet would feel at home in Billingham, said The Boss, though whether she meant climatically or architecturally we were unable to ascertain.

Into this fairly grey, fairly ghastly, generally uninviting environment, the Billingham Arms Hotel has always appeared to fit seamlessly, a sort of associate eyesore. Despite many incarnations, it has never really seemed to succeed, most closely resembling an ICI B&B.

Now it again has new owners, and a new "restaurant and grill" called Wardrooms. The ward room is the officers' mess on a Royal Naval vessel. Though still on its maiden voyage, it's not quite shipshape yet.

Take, for example, the inexperienced service. Though it's entirely likely that the question a waiter might be asked for starters is: "What's the soup of the day?", this one - and by no means alone - had no idea.

Odder yet, in truth, since 90 per cent of the western world's soup production seems to be tomato and basil or carrot and coriander and he could more convincingly have flipped a coin. This proved tomato and basil, so instead we had marinaded olives with warm ciabatta bread and leaves - a winning combination.

The room's attractively refurbished with a blue and cream colour scheme, modern furnishings and arty table dressings. Quite appealing, really. A chap on a nearby table seemed to backtrack eating out several centuries, however, by eating with his face about two inches from the plate.

Others complained that the tables were wobbly - "Must have been a flat pack," they said. That few others were dining was probably because the rest of Billingham was at the ballet.

The main menu offers "classics" - sausage and mash, liver and bacon, chicken and monkfish - plus pizza, pasta, steaks, salads and burgers. All dishes of the day, as it were.

The Boss had started with mussels in a well appreciated Thai green curry sauce and with olives greeded from across the table, followed by an inexpensive and ample tuna nicoise salad - like all salads, offered in two portions.

We followed the vestigial mussels with chargrilled chicken in a bloody Mary sauce and might almost, with the chap in Macbeth's second scene, have wondered what bloody Mary is this? It was spicy, almost peppery, and tasted oddly like pea and ham soup.

The chicken and the accompanying chips were both good, the vegetables plentiful and decent enough.

We finished with gingerbread ice cream, from a lengthy list that also included panna cotta and rhubarb and mango and papaya fruit (or some such). Three courses, about £35 for two.

Outside by 9pm, Billingham was chilling 'em. Why didn't John Betjeman think of that?

* Wardrooms at the Billingham Arms Hotel, The Causeway, Billingham. Presently only open from 6.30pm. No problem for the disabled.

TAKING a break in Edinburgh, Shildon lad Barry Murphy visited the recently opened £434m Parliament building, pride of Scotland, and was particularly impressed with the sandwiches in the parliamentary cafe - so good that he checked their provenance on the packaging. "Made in England," it said.

BY no means alone, Ellen Carlin laments the surprising lack of top class eating places in Durham city. Though four are included in Hardens' UK Restaurants 2005, the compliments are rather left handed.

Among them are the Hide Bar ("Very popular, I don't know why"), the Pump House ("a tad expensive for what it is") and Shaheen's Indian Bistro, said to be well worth finding in an under served city.

On the grounds that if you want to find a good place to eat you ask a local, the Hardens rely on reader comments and not supposed "expert" opinions, and only Bistro 21 gets an unequivocal review - "the only place in town which serves really good food." The inspectors think similarly; the guide's £12.95.

WHATEVER is so special about a dog's dinner - as distinctly opposed to a dog's breakfast, which is a bit of a mess - lots of folk were dressed up that way at Headlam Hall.

It was Sunday afternoon and they were there for a wedding. Another wedding. Since the pits closed and the call centres went international, weddings may be Britain's biggest industry.

Headlam Hall's a handsome Jacobean manor about seven miles west of Darlington, a sign outside the front door urging guests not to throw confetti on the premises.

We'd last had Sunday lunch there about 15 Christmases ago, and recalled it unenthusiastically - "cheap crackers" said The Boss. Things were a little lovelier the second time around.

Nothing's perfect, of course. The Boss thought salmon and roast potatoes a marriage made in hell, the vegetables were uninspiring, the roast potatoes soggy and the serving spoons missing altogether.

Still, the room was handsome, the staff smiled - top marks, kids - the short menu was comprehensive enough and the crackling was simply superb, embracing the hog's back like a long lost relative.

Starters included soup - carrot and coriander, see above - melon and a decent dish of prawns with smoked fish; main courses might have been pork, beef, steak and onion pie, salmon with a pea and coriander veloute ("lovely," she thought) and a vegetarian tart.

Puddings were fine, three courses £16, the coffee stewed and disgusting. We wish the newlyweds an altogether happier ending.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what's purple and 400 miles long.

The grape wall of China, of course.

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