Howay. Ma neem's Bryan. Ah were born in wor North East. Born and bred up here laike. And toneet ah'd laike to talk to wor about wor cunree. When wor were a naipper, it were all docks and maines and the laike up ere. Wor hard workin geordie lads were wor beatin heartbeat of wor nation, though but. Taimes were tough but there were jobs and come Fraidee neet wor'd all gan down wor toon, straight in wor Roxy and do wor strand into wor wee small hours. Eee but it were reet canny, dressing up in wor fainest slaimlaine suits, courtin all wor canny ladytrons - 3 and 6 down the local Regal, couple of bob for twenty Capstons and all the brown ale wor could swaig down uz necks, and enough change left from a pound for a taxi home and threepenn'orth of cod and chaips. Canny dees, though but. Canny dees.
But coming back up ere from wor fancy dreamhome in wor West Sussex, wor divna belaieve the difference in wor toon. Docks? All gone. Roxy? Pulled down. Eee but ah divna think wor were even in wor North East - maight as well have been in Amazona for all that wor could recognaise it. Wor had as much chance of lumbering up and limboing down at wor Roxy as the Makems have of playing in wor Premiership. If ah divna needed a Jimmy Riddle so badly ah'd've hopped straight back in wor helicopter and been hotfootin it down to Acapulco (....eee, that Baby Jane's a canny lass though but... she'll need wor overcoat wi'wor though but if wor gans down wor docks dressed laike that maind!)
