Ive just read this extract from the Burglars Dog Alternative Drinking Guide to Newcastle. It is a review of The Forth...


The Forth is a bit of a strange place in that it alternates between a
relaxing, intimate, friendly, down-to-earth, modern bar with a great
jukebox, and a cliquey, chokingly smoky, smug wankfest full of irredeemable
cunts. No word of a lie. I've witnessed it many a time. Always a Dog
favourite for at least one pint on a night out, The Forth has a good choice
of exotic beers, plus economy lager for the student in your life. Ah, it's
always a hoot when you've dragged your work "mates" in to see that pubs
other than Pacific and Bar 42 do exist, let them develop a taste for some
Belgian raspberry headfucker and then watched them poo blood when they've
seen the price of their round. The latest post-blaze decor consists of
massive chandeliers, some alarming wallpaper on (fashionably) one wall only,
and work from local artists on the upper level: did they ever flog that
painting of the Gateshead multi-storey car park? I certainly hope so, since
it's bad enough having to pass the fucker every day, without seeing it on
the walls of the bar, too. There's big windows to illuminate that lunchtime
session and to give you an unparalleled view of the dossers and crackheads
in Pink Lane, and while the outside paint job seems to be stuck at the
undercoat stage, I'm not entirely sure if that's permanent or not. What I
really like about the Forth, though, is the way that, whatever design
foolishness they care to throw at it, it always looks like a knackered old
boozer. You can't buy qualities like that, you know. But, hell, it wouldn't
be a Dog review without a bit of griping about something. And here it is: I
despise, fail to understand and try to avoid DJs at all costs, as anyone
who's read more than a couple of reviews on this site will tell you. I'm an
old fart who's long past his peak, and I'm only a cardigan's throw away from
shouting "Turn that bloody racket off. Call that music? You want some Big
Black on, something with a proper tune". But what I will say is this: there
is absolutely no need, ever, for the Forth's Sunday AFTERNOON DJ to ruin my
day and my undercrackers by booming out shit-loosening bass under Top 40
standards. What the bleep were they thinking? But all this is just minor
carping about a place I really like and end up in more often than not. Go
on, give it a whirl. You might even like it. And if you're feeling a little
uncertain about your freedom of expression and the individuality of your
dress sense, then rest assured: there's always some knacker in here who
looks more of a dick than you ever could.

A pasionate, honest review, from a true wee artist. Why can't they all be like that. Egon Ronay can you here me?