HOLME House prison is alongside the Portrack Lane Retail Park in Stockton. Last time we were inside, the inmates shouted very rude things through the windows. "They shout very rude things at everybody," said a prison officer, by way of feeble reassurance.

Since it is not a likely venue for the Breakfast Club - not even, it must be assumed, for porridge - we foregathered at the retail park, a more fearful place altogether.

Once stores used simply to describe themselves as big, then super, hyper and, by some superlative Act of Succession, mega. By every degree they become more terrifying. Where might it all end - "Supreme and no back answers"?

Collectables, for all that, offered an unsurpassable breakfast - all things considered, the best ever.

Begun by Phillip Lewis, a bloke with a barrow in the MetroCentre, Collectables is now a multi-million pound operation with others in the set - "Fine glass and china" officially - in Newcastle and Alnwick.

The Stockton emporium, unprepossessing without - "unprepossessing" is a euphemism, meaning pug ugly - is a retail revelation within.

The Doultons and the Wedgewoods are assembled, of course - collections like Ethos, Arcadia and Eternal Beau - but it's possible also to buy everything from a potato masher (as Mr Macourt did, whether necessary or not) to Big Mouth Billy Bass, which was £29.95 and is now under a fiver.

Big Mouth Billy is a mechanical fish which, thanks to something called Synchromotion, breaks into a rendition of "Take me to the River" whenever someone comes near. It was the Queen's favourite Christmas present in 1999, apparently. a permanent resident on top of the Sandringham joanna, perfect for a post-prandial knees up.

What big mouth Philly made of it can only be imagined.

By the till there is also a special offer, £2.99, on "Arthur Price sexy spoons." Asked what an Arthur Price sexy spoon might be, the assistant blushed and turned away, as if it were a proposal of holy matrimony.

In Stockton, of course, it might be.

The restaurant - upstairs, difficult for the disabled - is handsomely furnished in repro regency, the only small problem (about a quarter of an inch, to be precise) that one of Mr Macourt's chair legs seemed a little shorter than the others; what the Scots call shoogly.

In a pub, a folded beer mat would have evened things up, here he decided on balance to live with it.

First in, 9.30am and staff still hoovering, we sat by the balcony, reminiscent of the Reverend Gentleman's childhood days at the Gaumont (or whatever) in Saltburn when he would, with uncanny accuracy, aim lollipop sticks at the stalls holders below.

Lollipops being unfortunately unavailable, he resisted the reversion.

The menu talks of highly talented chefs and food from the four corners of the world. The only curious thing about the breakfasts is that each is described as "for one", perhaps to discourage families from ordering a full English and nine plates.

There are six different breakfasts. The continental (real men don't eat continental breakfasts) and the children's (ditto) may be discounted, the others - since we had one each - deserve fuller description as a tutorial to all those caterers who believe that breakfast starts and ends with a fry-up.

Full English: Fresh orange juice, pot of tea or cafetiere of coffee, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried or scrambled egg and toast (£4.95).

Collectables brunch: Smoked Scottish salmon served on a bed of scrambled egg with wholemeal toast (£3.95).

The ultimate breakfast sandwich: A crusty baguette filled with sausages, bacon, tomatoes, and topped with a fried egg (£4.25).

Yorkshire breakfast omelette (and no matter that the Tees is to the south): Served with hot crusty bread and butter, a light and fluffy omelette filled with bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and sausages. (And, though it wasn't mentioned, served with plenty of coleslaw and a pleasant, orangey, salad.)

Only in the poshest hotels has there been greater choice, rarely more chipper service, evident quality or more convivial atmosphere, never better value.

So greatly were we on a high, indeed, that the column bought Rocky the Lobster - was £29.95, now £5.99 - which not only sings Sea Cruise and Row the Boat but (says the box) shakes and dances, too. (An ugly brute, mind).

Lobby lobster requires batteries, others shouldn't need pushing at all. Portrack Lane might be Park Lane, a collectors' item, if ever.

l Collectables, Portrack Lane, Stockton (01642) 676675. Breakfast from 9.30am-11.30am, Monday to Saturday. Restaurant open all day and from 11am, Sunday. Difficult for the disabled.

THERE has been blood on the beer mats at Cleveland CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Alienation just now.

Ever accommodating, therefore, the column took some of the deposed and the disaffected on a Tuesday night tour of Durham's glories, the more resplendently to cry into their beer.

Two of the ladies were so overcome, they ordered a half between them. It seemed a little underdoing it.

The Elm Tree, no longer (of course) Vaux, still has four hand pumps and a splendid pint of Strongarm; the Hogshead, on a mercifully quiet night, was as friendly as its advertising claims and had seven draught real ales; the Half Moon, delivered from the It's A Scream eclipse, cheered them with its rather grand back room and with White Bishop, 5.2 abv from the Durham Brewery.

The crown jewel, however - still the North-East's best pub - remains The Victoria in Hallgarth Street, where an invigorating buffet also awaited. By 10.30pm they were feeling quite cheerful, a smile for the CAMRA crew at last.

MORE real ale news: Durham Drinker reports that the Cathedrals Brewery will begin production in the city this month, five cask ales and a monthly special....Cleveland CAMRA's pub of the year, presentation on Thursday, is the Captain Cook Inn at Staithes....the chap from Wetherspoon's has been on about an end of April beer festival in North-East outlets, one of the ales uniquely arriving by tanker from Czechoslovakia before being decanted into casks at the Castle Eden Brewery. More on that one later.

RALPH Wilkinson, he of the much garlanded No 22 Coniscliffe Road in Darlington, has also taken over The Crown at Manfield - a big pub in a small and out of the way village. It was Ralph, remember, who before opening the vastly successful No 22 sought the column's expert advice and then, wisely, did the opposite.

Manfield's near Piercebridge, about six and a half miles south-west of Darlington and therefore close enough to work up a thirst by walking from work on Wednesday.

White Boar was as delicious as ever, Bull (Village Brewer) and Burton also available. Sandwiches but no hot food, open evenings and weekend lunchtimes only. This time Ralph didn't even ask.

THOUGH the items were distinct, some readers (including members of Pauline Moffatt's bridge group) formed the impression that strong criticism of a Darlington caf's mushroom soup in last week's column referred to the Fighting Cocks at Middleton St George. It didn't, that was the item above it. Whatever the Fighting Cocks mushroom soup may be like, the rest of it really is very promising indeed.

A LITTLE more filling in on the Hole in the Wall, recently exposed hereabouts. Sue and Greg James - formerly Hole in the Wall, Darlington, now Hole in the Wall, Tenerife - reckon many pubs share the name, including the "world's longest", in Dublin.

The Tenerife version, an Irish music bar frequented by singer Daniel O'Donnell, opens for food from 10am-9pm for those who happen to be over there. Sirloin steak and trimmings is under £4, the lot

....and finally, the bairns - ever on the right wavelength - wondered if we knew why pork is like an old radio.

Because they both have a lot of crackling.

Published: Tuesday, April 3rd, 2001