'Ave a look, frew ver Fog on ver Tyne. It 'ides aw the bleedin' monsters.

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Welcome wan and awl to me guide to fahkin’ Newcastle. I don’t normally venture further than Watford, but in honour of our new guv’nor Tesco, I ‘ave decided to get me fahkin mountaineering gear and and wander up to that backwards ol’ place they call ver norf, more spercifically Newcastle. I don’t suppose I’m going to like it much. I don’t like a lot of things wot goes outside the M25, but as long as I can get a decent fry-up wot’s ver fahkin’ bovver?

Ver Tyne fahkin’ Bridge. Lord gawd almighty, it breaks me heart to know there’s ver old Lahndahn Bridge being climbed all over by a load of septics, whilst the British taxpayers money goes towards the upkeep of this fahkin’ monstrosity. It looks like somefink off the start of Miami fahkin’ Vice. I was saying to be old china Reggie Kray not two days ago, that if some jumped up norvern tried to build a bridge like this over ver beloved Thames, I’d slit ‘is fahkin froat dahn the ol’ East End, an' no mistake. No wan fahks wiv my bridges, cor blimey.

When that pile of toss ver Millennium fahkin’ Dome went up at the side of the Thames, I fort to myself ‘if Queen Vic’ were alive to see this, she’d be turning in her bleedin’ grave.’ It’s a big fahkin’ boil on ver face of Lahndan, mate, a bleedin’ disgrace. I’m tempted to say ver same abaht this crock of shite, the Angel of Ver Norf, but let’s fahkin’ well face it. It’s a blistering zit in the middle of a thousand other blistering zits on the fahk ugly face of Newcastle wiv aw legs and everyfink. Fahking cock, mate, that’s what it bleedin’ well is.

Ver Metro Centre. I suppose I ought to hand it to ver norverners. I must say, I didn’t notion that they’d have a fahkin’ shopping centre. I fort they’d all be trading barley and goats in a big ol’ market, so really, the norvern scumbags is more advanced than wot we fort. Still, no sign of a bleedin’ fry-up anywhere. It’s all Café Coffee and Casa du Café these bleedin’ days. Me ol’ dad wouldn’t know what the fahk was goin’ on if he were still here. What sort of a fahkin country are we living in when a man can’t get a decent bit of bacon unless it’s served in a fahkin’ punani with a bit of bleedin’ rocket? Fahkin’ wops. Not only do they pinch our birds, they’ve nicked our fahkin’ bacon sandwich, an’ awl. They even took a good ol’ down to earth cockney word like “caff” and fahking ponced that up into “café”! What a fahkin’ liberty!

Ver Barbara Windsor of Newcastle, Spuggie out of Byker bleedin’ Grove. Shortly after her Byker Grove fame, she came dahn to ver old West End to play poor bleedin’ orphan Annie in ver musical. She did a fahkin’ terrible cockney accent, an affront to the great capital, she was. Me old dad showed her that she weren’t welcome in Lahdahn by arse-raping her behind Ver Strand Theatre on the final night of her performance.

If you’re lucky enough to dwell in ver Queen’s good ol’ capital city, you can hop on a motorbus to fahkin’ Sarf-End-On-Sea. If you’re unlucky enough to live in the giant fleapit wot they call Newcastle, then you can get on a fahkin’ ‘orse and cart and go to bleedin’ Whitby for the day. Broke me bleedin’ heart, it did. Not a fahkin’ jellied eel or pickled whelk in sight. They really are backward cahnts up ‘ere, gawd awlmighty. They should have done this place during The Blitz and done as all a fahkin’ favour. Me ol’ dad used to say it was ver Geordies wot was responsible for AIDS since they is ver closest fings to Vikings in our times. The dirty bastards. They want bleedin’ shooting.

Well, that it’s. That’s the end of me tour of bleedin’ Newcastle. I should say I’ll be scrubbing me fahkin’ flesh with a wire brush and bleach an’ awl for a fortnight. What I ‘ave come to learn about leaving the perimeter of ver M25 is that there is many different cultures and peoples awl wot does their own fing an’ that, awl living togevver in peace, like ver fahkin’ savages wot they are. I don’t fink I’ll be leaving Lahndahn again in a bleedin’ hurry, me ‘ole body come out in fahkin’ hives as soon as I left the sound of Bow bells. Nah, I’m going to get back to the lahvverly Mrs Blinder and have a bit of Jack Ver Ripper/ lady of ver night role-play in ver bedroom. Cheerio for now, wan and awl.