Pol­i­tics is now non­sen­si­cal

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their sup­port for those un­der­go­ing treat­ment, re­mem­ber loved ones we have lost and raise funds to help stop bowel can­cer. It’s for peo­ple of all ages and abil­i­ties.

Sign up to Walk To­gether in Lon­don on Satur­day, Septem­ber 23, 2017 or to re­ceive a fundrais­ing pack with ev­ery­thing you need to hold your own mem­o­rable walk. Visit: bow­el­canceruk.org.uk/ walk­to­gether

JULIA BRADBURY Bowel Can­cer UK pa­tron THANK you for clar­i­fy­ing what most of us have known all along – that the Brexit cam­paign was car­ried out on the ba­sis of lies and dis­tor­tion.

Based on the Trea­sury fig­ures re­leased ear­lier this month, the Leave as­ser­tion that we send the EU £350m a week was bla­tantly un­true.

And it was largely an older sec­tion of the UK pop­u­la­tion that voted ‘to stop send­ing money to Brus­sels and, as it hap­pens, voted at the same time to dam­age the fu­ture of I WAS born to be a Ge­ordie, and a Ge­ordie I will be, Un­til I breathe no more and they dig a grave for me. Wher­ever I may travel, wher­ever I may roam, New­cas­tle is my place of birth and will for­ever be my home. I be­long to a great her­itage, and it be­longs to me, My blood runs to the rhythm of heavy in­dus­try. My grand­fa­thers were coal min­ers, or they built great ships, Out of Swans or the Nep­tune Yard, their souls slid down the slips. And in the cen­tre of my fair city, beats a strong and vi­brant heart, El­don Square, Northum­ber­land Street, and many many bars! It all adds to the at­mos­phere, unique and all its own, Full of Ge­ordies, kind and loyal, their hu­mour well renown. Old Earl Grey gazes off, down the younger peo­ple in this coun­try.

But with a madman in Py­ongyang and one ab­surd in­di­vid­ual in Wash­ing­ton, why not a posse of ques­tion­able street that bears his name, The beauty of our Grainger Town brings the city world­wide fame. How­ever long it comes to be, since my eyes set on those streets, I’ll know ev­ery flag­stone, ev­ery brick, ev­ery cor­ner on which to meet. And some­day it will come to me, it soon will be my turn, My ever-wan­der­ing feet will slow, the ache for home will burn. The roar of the Gal­low­gate End will echo over the sea, Call­ing loudly, far and wide, “Come, Ge­ordie, home to me”. The heart that can re­sist no more, will this time be mine, And home I will travel, once again, to the mighty Tyne. I was born to be a Ge­ordie, and a Ge­ordie I will be, Un­til I breathe no more, and they dig a grave for me.

SAN­DRA McMASTER in­di­vid­u­als in Down­ing Street as well? The na­tion has spo­ken in­deed. Ut­ter non­sense. JAMES DOB­SON Wark­worth

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