Bulk Hogans

Eight years ago Mr McGee opened Hogan's, a pub near Darlington railway station named after an old drinking partner and devoted to the "Pile 'em high, sell 'em cheap" philosophy that made millions for Tesco founder Jack Cohen.

It worked. Hogan's Leisure now runs six pubs - four in Darlington, plus the Lords Tavern in Stockton and another Hogan's, in Bishop Auckland. "We like Darlington, we'd be interested in anything in Darlington," said Mr McGee.

Beer's normally around £1 a pint, 20p off - all day, every day - for Over 60 club members on production of their identity card. Membership's around 1,500 from across the North-East, the great majority male. Paraphrased, their collective Christmas wish is that if Jack Cohen can get a knighthood, then Dave McGee at least deserves the governorship of Bermuda.

"They're doing for the working class what the workmen's clubs used to do," said Wear Valley district councillor George Hewitt, 61, in on the special bus from Bishop.

"Hogan's is the best thing that's ever happened to older folk around here. I go in almost every afternoon, it's where I meet the folk I grew up with."

Dave McGee, also 61, had never previously given a media interview, though many a glass is raised to his great good health. He wore a three piece suit, had more keys than the giant Wurlitzer; still declined a photograph. The day to day business is now run by other family members.

"There's a lot of bull talked about these places," he said. "It's all down to the discount we get, as simple as that. The more volume you do, the more discount you get from the brewery. They're happy, we're happy, the customers are happy."

Many others charge twice as much, or more, than Hogan's. The ever-unanswered question, of course, is if Hogan's can sell ale for 85p and prosper, and the brewers can sell it for less than 85p and do even better, what's the real cost of producing a pint of beer? Dave McGee estimates about 20p. "It's pure greed on behalf of the pub companies," he said. "We're doing quite canny as we are...."

Noon: The Stockton bus disgorges Arthur Bradley, 67, who frequently calls at all six "Hogan's" on the same day, often by taxi. An old lady has brought her own stool, a bit like they do at Royal Ascot, the chair a 96-year-old regularly occupied remains empty. He died a few months ago. The drink, they reckon.

Arthur, 35 years a miner at Kelloe and Easington, walks into the bar like John Wayne looking for his boy, waves at assorted drinking mates, collects his free beer tokens. "If everyone did the same as this, old folk would drink twice as much and pubs would make twice as much profit," he says, his enthusiasm outstripping his economics. In any case, adds Arthur, the price of a pint is bloody ridiculous. He blames nationalisation.

Five Santa hatted bar staff work frantically to stem the tide and slake the thirst, glass collectors lean perilously, like Pisa, Dave McGee strolls round like a latter day Saint Nicholas, reverential revellers anxious to shake his free hand.

In the town centre there's a major power cut; in Hogan's they're oblivious, and one or two oblivious as newts.

"They're no problem at all these lads," says Dave. "All right, some might get drunk but they're no trouble slinging out. It's the market, youngsters only come out at night. I like a drink myself in the afternoon, but I wouldn't thank you for one at night."

A gentleman of the column's long acquaintance, but who still seeks anonymity, asks if we'll print his Christmas wish. "That Mr McGee will open a Hogan's in Shildon."

1.15pm: The first strains of Happy Wanderer arise from the corner near the karaoke machine. "Never mind him, he's drunk," someone says.

"It's only quarter past one."

"I know, but he's been drinking since six o'clock."

2.30pm: This may be the only karaoke machine that plays Rafferty's Motor Car, or George Formby's little number about the lamp post on the corner of the street.

Santa, played admirably by Paul McGrady - known as Planet - arrives to the strain of Rock Around the Clock, laden with T-shirts, watches, pens and key rings as well as the bottle openers. "We put a bit of pressure on the breweries," says Dave.

"I've been naughty all year," one of the ladies tells Santa - pensionable maybe, but definitely not the retiring type.

There are awards for each pub's diligent customer of the year and a "lifetime service" award for Jimmy Hogan, after whom the first was named.

Proud man? "Not really, I don't revel in the limelight," he says. "I'm only doing this because I've had a drink....."

5pm: The party's almost over, no bother whatsoever except for a chap called Dennis who's committing grievous bodily harm on poor Elton's song about wind and wings. After what has become known as a senior moment, Arthur announces that he's had 14 pints ("steady away") and is steadier away than some; Planet, de-robed, takes a bow. The prizes have all gone, too - bottles, more T-shirts, even condoms. "After an afternoon like this you never know," said David Wilson, Dave McGee's stepson.

They're rocking to Jungle Bells, hokey-cokeying to Come All Ye Faithful. It ends, as these things should, with White Christmas and with talk of the good old days. Tuesday, they'll tell you, was one of them.

GORDON Bacon, former County Durham polliss, cricketer and man about town, will likely be spending Christmas in Bosnia. "They say the Irish bar does a decent Christmas lunch, I haven't had time to think about it," says the man who once memorably observed if the inventor of the widget was female, he'd like to propose holy matrimony.

After eight years with relief agencies in Bosnia, Gordon has become director of the Missing Persons Institute. Missing, of course, presumed dead. "I try to bring closure to people so that they can get on with the rest of their lives," he says. "Your heart goes out to so many of these people after all the years of not knowing. All they want is some certainty."

Around 6,000 remains have been found, mostly still unidentified. Up to 30,000 other people are still unaccounted, though cross-border co-operation is much improved.

"If each of them only has ten family or close friends, that's anguish for 350,000 people," he says. "DNA is the only way of identification and it's stretching the technology. It ties in with my police career, especially with CID and scientific aids."

He was an inspector in Newton Aycliffe, played cricket for Bishop Auckland, Langley Park and Lanchester among others and had to retire from the police force after a cricket injury sustained on the boundary at Chester-le-Street. "Two of us went for the same ball. My cheek collided with his knee and came off very much second best. Basically they had to re-arrange my face."

This weekend he has meetings with Baltic prime ministers and with Michael Portillo, a member of the International Commission on missing Persons. Next year they need $8m. This year they got $4m from the US and $60,000 from the UK.

"I'm racing around all over Europe," says Gordon. "I've never been so busy in my entire working life, not even as an inspector in Newton Aycliffe."

Peace on earth? "Wouldn't it be wonderful to think so."

MO Mowlam's likely successor as Redcar MP should be chosen on Saturday. Shortlisted Vera Baird QC - champion of the Ludworth orchid and of countless crown court cases - asks us therefore to make something clear. The column on November 9 said that, should our old friend win the Labour ticket, a place in North-East chambers awaited. So it does, but strictly only until a fter a successful general election. "My wig will be thrown into the sea the day I am elected," she insists. Should make a splendid photograph.

....and finally, something akin to gardeners' question time from Jack Amos, no relation, in Willington. Jack's in the Belle Vue club in Crook when an old miner shows him his splendid walking stick, badges of places of interest attached to it, and announces that it's made from a Brussels sprout stalk. One pint sober, Jack inspects it closely - "highly polished, nobbly bits in all the right places, it could be...." What's puzzling him is whether his companion's telling the whole truth - or is poor Jack as green as he's Brussels sprout looking?

* Previous columns from John North can be found online at www.thisisthenortheast.co.uk/news/north.html