FLEA bitten, as a Gadfly column probably should be, we have been mithering about midges. Stephen Chaytor, councillor and part-time musician, hits the best note yet.

Stephen, who represents sundry Trimdons on Easington District Council, also plays in a six member band - "sort of folky, bluesy, acousticky stuff" - called Pondlife.

"As we're obviously the next boy band, a la Westlife, the name seemed appropriate," he says. Stephen's the youngest, at 42.

Others include Tony Machin, a lecturer; retired teacher Dave Rhodes, Mick Arnell (whom they call a "proper" musician) and John Dodsworth, who runs the Rosedene pub in Sunderland and previously had the Gamecock in Peterlee and the Castle Eden Inn.

"We just started singing one Sunday afternoon in the Gamecock and have followed him round," says Stephen. "We're hoping he'll take over the Hammersmith Palais next, it's the only chance we've got."

Since they're Pondlife, the lads have also assumed appropriate names - including Dragonfly, Newt, Pond Skimmer and Bullfrog - suitably emblazoned across their T-shirts.

Stephen - "5ft 4ins in my Cuban heels" - is Midge.

The observant, of course, will have noticed that that's only a quintet. John Smith, professor of psychology at the University of Northumbria, is identified on his shirt as the most commonly observed pond life of all.

He answers to Supermarket Trolley.

MIDGES aren't the only thing biting the good folk of the Knoydart Peninsula, in the western Highlands, as Raye Wilkinson in Middleham points out.

It's a hot issue reminiscent of the incident in Middleton-in-Teesdale 30-odd years ago when the Cosy Cinema burned down and two over 60s - one, memory suggests, was 72 - were among the first village firemen on the scene.

When Durham brigade chiefs realised how old they were, they were pensioned off regardless of experience, expertise or available replacements.

Raye's a regular visitor to Knoydart, home to the remotest pub on the British mainland, to a five pupil school and to a tiny volunteer fire brigade.

It's so isolated, in fact, that the only way to get to Knoydart without climbing boots and cagoule is by sea from Mallaig. We told three years ago how the lifeboat had to be launched to bring police officers to sort out a late night disturbance in the pub.

Aware of the problem, the faithful fire fighters were hitherto ready to hold the fort until the arrival by lifeboat of the retained brigade from Mallaig.

They were allowed to set up pumps and equipment at building fires, to prevent the flames from spreading to other property and to provide transport and local knowledge for the Mallaig firemen when finally they landed.

Now - and Knoydart regards it as a real emergency - the rules have been changed. Because small brigades in remote areas are deemed not to have the necessary skills, Knoydart's firemen won't even be told about building fires in case they rush round and try to put them out.

When the lifeboat gets there, the Mallaig brigade could be stranded with no way of getting to the blaze.

Raye sends a copy of West Word, the monthly newspaper which serves that area. "It's bordering on the ludicrous," it says, with considerable restraint.

Some would say bordering on the Trumptonesque, as well.

BEFORE you move on from flying insects," writes Pete Winstanley in Durham, "how about a tribute to Dr Strabismus (whom God preserve) of Utrecht, who crossed a salmon with a mosquito to ensure that fishermen got a bite every time?"

Dr Strabismus (whom God preserve) was the creation of JB Morton, who as Beachcomber in the Daily Express wrote six columns a week for 40 years - six columns? 40 years? Unbelievable! - and a weekly effort for ten years in his dotage.

Surreal characters like the pipe smoking Dr Strabismus, Mr Justice Cocklecarrot and Prodnose also appeared in a long running radio programme featuring Richard Ingrams, John Wells and Patricia Routledge.

The Goon Show is said to have been inspired by Beachcomber, Monty Python similarly to have had a toe in that whimsical water.

Morton, a keen walker, once visited Hexham and complained that the Romans hadn't built their wall long enough.

When Hadrian built the Roman wall

To keep the horrid Scots away

He didn't build it long enough

Or high enough, or strong enough

And look at us today.

It is to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations that finally we turn, however, and the assertion that Dr Strabismus (whom God preserve) had patented an illuminated trouser clip for cyclists using main roads at night.

What a splendid idea. If no real life Screwtop has done it, shouldn't they be invented at once?

IN gently reviewing recent changes in public transport arrangements in Darlington, recent columns overlooked something fundamental. It became very obvious last Wednesday night. Last Wednesday night it poured down.

Like another 16 services, the homeward bus leaves from a single stop in Tubwell Row, outside the Nags Head. Liable to drive the most abstemious to drink, there's not so much as a single shelter between the lot of us.

While Durham has an impressive new bus station, Newcastle an integrated transport system and even humble Shildon a little bus interchange, this bunch - benighted and bewildered - can't even provide a shelter for 17 services.

Is this how they persuade people to use public transport? Is there any wonder that one-time Darlington visitors are voting with their feet?

FIGURES out yesterday showed that North-East public transport use has declined by more than half in the last 20 years. In the past decade alone, the number of journeys has fallen from 200 million to 130 million.

Back on the number 28, meanwhile, fares went up by 20p at the weekend for the second time this year - a 17 per cent rise in fewer than 12 months. For the privilege of living eight miles from Darlington, it now costs me almost £30 a week to travel to work and back.

Another example of how to get people out of their cars and onto the buses? No wonder so many rail against Arriva.

...and finally, the ever-vigilant John Briggs in Darlington notes via the Internet that "upmarket" Chelsea Harbour fabric designer Titley and Marr have a new pattern for a range of curtains and other materials. It's called Shildon.

Clearly a striking fabric, a handsome fabric, a remnant of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. But why Shildon?

We ring Titley and Marr. A recorded message says the number has changed, and offers another which appears to be for T&M's rather more prosaic premises on an industrial estate in Waterlooville, Hants.

The query takes so much explaining that the girl, probably deciding that there's a lunatic on the phone, says someone will ring back.

No-one does; Shildon remains a mystery. As probably they say in the world of curtain manufacture, you must draw your own conclusions.

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Published: ??/??/2004