EXCEPT that a chap got on at Darlington carrying a six foot hat stand, nothing much happened this time on the number 213 bus to the backwoods. The hat stand was one of those fancy things with antlers on top, a Monarch of the Glen, save that the hats would all have had to be deer stalkers.

His wife pushed a baby in a pram. In the good old days they'd have carried the baby, put the hat stand in the pram and still had enough room for the coal.

The interesting bit was on the way back from the football, and it was in the evening paper. The Hartlepool Mail reported that 14 per cent of the town's workforce is on the sick, and yet it's only the region's third biggest casualty list. In Sedgefield district, which includes Shildon and places like that, 15 per cent claim to be suffering and in Easington the figure for those on benefit is a near-terminal 23 per cent.

Some will be genuine; many will be swinging the lead. Still, they won't be quite so sick after Saturday - Easington Colliery 1, Whitby Town 0.

SWINGING the lead" is reckoned a nautical term for dodging hard labour. The lead swinger would simply dangle his weight over the side whilst others spliced the mainbrace, swabbed the decks and other maritime mucking out.

In that spirit of helpfulness, we should also explain that in parts of County Durham the term "Nash" is still used to describe the DSS, formerly the National Assistance.

The bar of Wheatley Hill workmen's club, comfortably within the district of Easington, was well filled on the morning in 1986 when we strolled in with Northern Echo photographer Mike Cowling. A memorable minute later, it was almost deserted. They'd fled as if pursued by the very hounds of hell, though we weren't even bearing teeth. Mr Cowling, of course, was conspicuously carrying a camera.

"Where's everyone gone?" we asked the barman. "Anywhere to get away," he said. "They think you're from the Nash."

STILL all at sea, the past two columns have considered the role of Trafalgar hero William Pryce Cumby, after whom a pub in Heighington is named. (The pub, which is where we came aboard, also has a very good dominoes team.)

Rob Williams, first, e-mailed with the information that the Bellerophon - Cumby's ship at Trafalgar - was also the craft on which Napoleon surrendered and was taken to exile in Elba. "Apparently he was well behaved, but banned from talking to any of the crew in case he fomented mutiny," adds Rob.

John Briggs followed with so great a raft of Internet information on the Bellerophon that the craft was in danger of sinking.

What John also discovered while splashing amid the cyberwaves was a Wills cigarette card which not only offered a perfect 50 word summary but had a splendid picture of "Napoleon going on board HMS Bellerophon" on the front.

What wonderful things fag cards were - and to think that we only used them as dabbers.

ARDATH cigarette cards just keep on appearing - usually depicting a pre-war village football team. It seems, indeed, that anyone who ever kicked a half-deflated caser round the rec has had the kiss of Ardath.

The latest is from Alan Thompson in Seaton Carew, showing a cup winning team from Sacriston, near Durham, circa 1937. "Like a lot more I was at the match, not like modern times," says Alan. "You'd go down the colliery and get a team, no couch potatoes then. Joe Dimambro kept the corner shop and gave all the bairns free ice cream to celebrate."

Information on Ardath, the rules of playing fag cards or whether any packets still contain them greatly welcomed. Like those dabbers, something will doubtless turn up.

TOM Purvis, the column's other trusty first lieutenant, has been discovering more about Virol (which nervous people needed). He's also discovered a Virol packaging illustration on a flier from the splendid Museum of Advertising and Packaging in Gloucester, though his favourite is for Cerebos Salt.

In 1973, it transpires, he became Grand Master of the Loyal Order of Cerebos - "a sort of Fred Flinstone, Barney Rubble, buffaloes type of thing" - at the Saltgrass pub in Sunderland. It was a good year, Sunderland won the Cup.

Virol, anyway, was first owned by Bovril - might almost have been an anagram of it - and when last heard of was owned by Optrex. One in the eye? Surely not.

THE Buffs, not to be confused with the Loyal Order of Cerebos, had an assiduous image burnishing attempt in Saturday's paper. The Runnymede Lodge (in Bishop Auckland, not Surrey) had raised money to help flood victims in South Church.

In longhand, of course, they are the Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes - a familiar name above licensed premises and elsewhere.

Given what's happened everywhere from South Church to Sussex, however, and that it's hardly stopped raining since St Swithin's, shouldn't they be renamed the Royal Post-diluvian Order of Buffaloes instead?

...and part of a letter from Ken Spearen in School Aycliffe about being a before-the-war baby: "A stud was something which fastened a collar to a shirt, and going all the way meant staying on a double decker bus until it reached the depot. Cigarette smoking was fashionable, grass was mown, coke was kept in the coal house, a joint was a piece of meat you had on a Sunday and pot was something you cooked it in."

REMEMBER the back street hair products firm - one of the column's finest hours - which advertised "London, Paris, New York, Rome" but rarely sprayed much beyond Darlington?

A builder's van spotted the other day carried a similar slogan - "London, New York, Paris, Munich" - on one of its windows.

All was explained on the other window. "But mainly Darlo," it said.

...and finally, Chuck berry is 74 today and still, they reckon, giving it what fettle on his Ding-a-ling.

Julie Hull, sweet little sixteen in those days, recalls a Saturday night concert at the Sunderland Empire when Chuck played on and on but the band, decidedly, didn't.

"He was having a really good time, wanted to carry on, but the band wanted to watch Match of the Day.

"When they came back, Chuck was still playing on his own, so they started up again. It was turned midnight when we left."

Like Chuck Berry and his boys, it's good to go out on a high note.