Ah, sausages - the food of love

Regulars may recall that the column has recently suggested that Safeway might have erred from the straight and narrow by trying to sell real estate rights to the moon.

The new offer, covered in red hearts, offers "Sexy savings" - sexy as defined in Chambers Dictionary as "over concerned with sex" or "very attractive to the opposite sex" or "stimulating sexual instincts".

With what do Safeway propose to stimulate Richard's sexual instincts? "Thick pork sausages" better than half price, granulated sugar 30p off and - wait for it - four rolls of double velvet toilet tissue reduced from £2.15 to 99p. Lest he become carried away, however, the offer is restricted to three items per deal per customer.

Today's date notwithstanding, he hadn't previously regarded Walls' thick pork sausages as the food of love. "I think," says Richard, "that I feel a headache coming on."

SO what of the I'm Too Sexy Handicap, the five o'clock at Wolverhampton last Thursday? Recent columns, it may be remembered, have wondered how horse races came by their names. Stephen Gilmore in Sedgefield has again been helpful. The Alexandre-Gustav Eiffel Claiming Stakes, for example, was run on December 15 because it was the anniversary of the tower builder's birth, the St Mary di Rosa Handicap honoured the good lady's feast day and the Batman and Robin Amateur Riders Handicap on January 12 marked the 35th anniversary of the programme's debut (with Adam West and Burt Ward) on ABC Television. Stephen has so far been unable to get to grips with the I'm Too Sexy Handicap, but may not be able to resist the invitation to explore further. All but the passion wagon were run on the all-weather at Southwell, in Nottinghamshire, which last week's column declared was pronounced Suth-ell. TalkSport listener Brian Hunt in Bishop Auckland, however, reports that they've a tipster called Charlie McCann who insists that locals pronounce it South-well. Perhaps readers from the north Midlands may be able to offer a definitive version, before the column further ties itself up in Notts.

THEN there was Bishop Auckland Town Hall's series of literary evenings on the Seven Deadly Sins which began last year, ran for six weeks and mysteriously ended - coitus interruptus? - before "Lust" set in. Genteel Gadfly readers may need reminding that the other sinful six are pride, covetousness, anger, gluttony, envy and the three-toed sloth.

The town hall, at any rate, has now decided that the folk of south-west Durham are ready for a little gentle titillation, if not necessarily A-list lust. On March 23 at 7.30pm, Tyneside novelist Carol Clewlow "examines how lust has been represented in contemporary literature with particular reference to her own writings".

Her writings include the best-selling A Woman's Guide to Adultery. Clearly the lady is an expert.

ALL passion spent, let us return to last week's column, and to the whereabouts of former Darlington councillor and Conservative Association chairman Peter Jones.

Until four or five years ago, Jonesey was rarely out of the news or (for that matter) this column. Then, like lost lust, he just vanished.

We had invited him for an old times G&T in the Red Lion at 2pm on Monday. A small crowd turned up; Peter didn't. He did telephone, however, reporting that for two years he had been "rather ill" but that he was now getting better. "He hasn't really been conversing with the world for a while," added a friend.

Though he hopes to accept the drinks invitation soon, he is unlikely to return to politics. "As far as I'm concerned," says Peter, "it's now impossible to tell the difference between the two of them."

THE merest mention of the old lad's name, however, led to a revival of Peter Jones stories - including one from a broadcast journalist of our acquaintance.

Peter, who had not long before appeared on a Radio 2 antiques programme, had been invited to take part in a local radio debate.

Though local radio works almost entirely on the belief that the honour of air time should be sufficient, Peter approached the presenter after the programme and inquired about a fee.

The presenter looked him straight in the eye. "It's all right," he said, "we let you harangue people for nothing."

SO insubstantial a throwaway line that it barely contravened the Litter Act, last week's column also wondered if anyone remembered Hiram Holliday (and Hiram B Birdbath, but that's another story.)

Several - John Briggs in Darlington, Pat Cariss in Killerby, Richmond, Tom Purvis in Sunderland - could still picture Mr Holliday.

Originally the title of a pre-war Paul Gallico novel, Hiram was a journalist who as a reward for saving his paper from a costly libel action was sent around the world and met umpteen adventures.

"He didn't just report the news, he was the news, a bit like Clark Kent or Mike Amos," suggests Tom. (Memory also suggests that he fought with an umbrella, but that might have been someone else.) In the late 1950s, the Adventures of Hiram Holliday also became a television series, the hero played by Wally Cox, who died in 1976.

What only Tom Purvis has discovered, however, is that the reason old Hiram landed so firmly in the gaffers' good books is that he inserted a comma - "a large, fat and pointed one".

That single comma completely changed the sense of flawed copy and saved half a million dollars. Fellow travellers down Apostrophe Avenue should make a careful note.

...and after our note on the Middleton Tyas by-election candidate who's promising to do something about the "bus shelter's", Stan Wilson (LibDem, Redcar) recalls the former rival who officially styled himself "Independant."

Michael Hunt from Littletown, near Durham, skidded to a halt while catching up with Roadwatch on Teletext last week - it warned of "trechorous driving conditions".

WE'D also noted last week that, on the back of a very inexpensive lunch, former Hartlepool United chairman Garry Gibson had been in every column except At Your Service.

Garry, a former choirboy at All Saints, Wheatley Hill, now reports that three weeks ago he was in Palma Cathedral - "they had soft drinks dispensers with the advertising removed, which looked like illuminated fridges" - and the week afterwards was in Carlisle Cathedral. "No drinks dispensers, but handy for the shops."

There, he asks, does that count?

FINALLY, back to the funny things that drop through the letterbox. In Sunderland there's a City Council newsletter that recently invited residents' comments on the area in which they lived - a colour television and video for the first out of the hat.

The winner is well-known local athlete Ian Archbold, who lives in Washington. Later this month he will be collected by the mayor's chauffeur and driven to the civic centre where there will be much camera flashing and flesh pressing.

The only possible problem is that Ian gave the council a most fearful howking. (His father used a rather stronger term; we dare not.) "The parks in Washington are an absolute disgrace. Why the hell do you want to build a new college on Princess Anne Park, who was responsible for that monstrosity beside the Wildfowl Park?"

Doubtless it speaks well of Sunderland Council that they not only listen to their critics but give them colour televisions. But as they probably say on Valentine's Day all over the world, don't ya just love it?

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