Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)

Run for Your Life

Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)

Run for Your Life

Article excerpt

Byline: By Bob Cuffe

I have just gone through the deeply emotional experience of moving house. This means, temporarily, being quite wealthy. Cash rich. Through the mystery and magic of equity. One advantage of being married for a hundred years is that there's gold in them there bricks.

Another advantage is that you become immune to pain. There are no more advantages. Everything else falls into the "Against" column.

I am now throat deep in debt. Cement Woman found a house we couldn't afford in an area where everyone jogs. That must mean it's middle class. In working class areas people run, often from the police, and with stolen goods under their arms.

In upper-class areas (see Darras Hall) residents pay their staff to run and then chase them in their cars. That's what I've heard anyway. In middle- class areas (see Gosforth ( not quite enough money to live in Darras Hall. Not quite enough class. In fact, Darras Hall considers Gosforth to be working class. So, how shall we settle this raging dispute? I call on all residents of Gosforth and Darras Hall to rise up, and have an enormous Gangs of New York type battle. On Sunday morning, at 11am, just after breakfast, at Jesmond Dene. My money would be on the social under-achievers of Gosforth, able finally to express their angst on their monumentally more successful opponents. And then, the tattered remains of Gosforth could tear Jesmond apart) people run.

Hope you're keeping up. I said that people jog round here. The fools. Have you ever seen anyone looking as though they're enjoying it? Even Paula has knocked it on the head.

Anyway, I'm now financially stretched. Close to destitute. Pot Noodles are becoming a culinary option. It won't be long before I'm appearing in one of those debt consolidation ads. Where the scum of the earth sit on their orange sofas, with green wallpaper and plastic bags for curtains, and sing the praises of the company that will keep them in this plight.

The people have their best clothes and jewellery on. This seems to consist of the stuff left at the end of a car boot sale. They stare blankly at the screen, and mutter their thanks to "No Escape Finance" for treating us like normal people (they twitch violently at this point and need to be physically subdued) a they were fine about our ccj's (the man starts shouting `CCJ'S! …

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