This month we're sticking our heads above the parapet for once in our miserable existence and are 'fessing up that, honestly, Popolo is about the only bar in town we can actually stand nowadays*. (* Until, like, ten bells when the frigging DJ turns up, obviously)

We're now offering you the chance to give it - and, by association, us - a good verbal hoofing. We're opening our doors to those who disagree with our constant derision of Tiger Tiger and their chain bar ilk, to the people who feel we don't reflect the true Newcastle drinking experience, and to those who wish us to come out from our ivory tower behind Popolo's red windows. We're aware of our faults, we're very sorry and, with God's help and yours, we'd like to mend our ways.

We're serious. We want you to tell us how we're blind, stupid and up our own collective arse. We want you to point out to us - firmly and undeniably - why WE'RE the dickheads, and why WE'VE got it all so hopelessly, unforgivably wrong.

We want to hear about your terrible experiences in our favourite bar, and with them your insults, profanity and compen claims for the cost of a ruined evening.

And we'd like to read about your disappointment on finding the bar full of complete knackers, little realising that, like last year's favourite Balearic hotspot, the paradise you anticipated has been wrecked by the very idiots who've come looking for that paradise. This means everyone except you; of course it does.

Things to consider while drafting your tirade include:

The door staff: perhaps you've been refused entry or been forcibly removed from the premises simply for acting the twat.
The cost: maybe you've yet to grasp that the lofty prices are not just in place to keep riff-raff like you out, but because leading brand spirits and fresh ingredients cost a little more than antifreeze and Sunny D.
The music: are you bewildered by a place that keeps its background music firmly in the background until long past the mandatory ear-punishing watershed of seven o'clock? Would you describe the beats as soporific if you had the faintest idea what soporific meant?
The customers' dress sense: do you find it an offence to the very fabric of your being seeing people with the audacity to wear different clothes to each other? Is it an affront to our regional heritage for a woman to wear a coat when it's nine below?
The bar staff: have you found them to be surly and rude, simply for serving the person they're serving and not acknowledging your impatient grunting?

Here are some words you may find useful when describing us:

fuckwits
hypocritical
mammy's boys
waste of time
arrogant

pretentious
fools
snobbery
delusional
cunts

How about it, then?

C'mon, man: we've had a little drink and we're spoiling for a fight. C'maaaan, you ugly fucking bastard, hit us with it. You yellow, or something? Bwaak-buk-buk-buk. Chicken.

Even if you've never even heard of Popolo, let alone been there, we still want to hear from you, you snivelling shits. Howay, man, we're bored and struggling for feature content. Just fill in the boxes below and click "Send", will you? Piece of piss, eh? We'll be putting the most offensive comments here later, together with a lookalike of your choosing. If we can be arsed, like.

On your marks. Get set. Call. Me. Wanker.

Here's some of the vitriol we've received so far:

(and unlike the Tiger Tiger forum, this one has newest posts at the bottom)

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John	Popolo's is a bag of fucking wank. I agree with a lot of your reviews, but how can you call this the best bar in Newcastle? It's just as full of pseudo-trendy wankers with pseudo-trendy mullets as every other bar. The doormen are total cunts, rude as fuck and completely unreasonable. It's far too busy inside, the drinks are shite and expensive. What's to recommend? It's a frigging travesty, you complete chods.

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Ross Lewis	Now look here wor lass drinks in Popolo so by default I have to think that it's shit. I'm sure I'd like it but in the nigh on 7 years since I moved to Newcastle I haven't set foot in the place out of sheer spite. Do I win Ł5?

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Gary	That ponce of a doorman, you know the one that looks like he does a bit of karate rather than plain old heed stoving, refused me entry 'cos I looked "to have had enough". Considering: a) It was 7pm, and b) I had yet to let a drink pass my lips they can go and fuck themselves with their mojito mint leaf crushers and stick a frigging Ł3! brooklyn beer bottle up their collective debt ridden saggy jeaned arses. I ask you, fucking bar price list that should be in a 70's chip shop and a crowd like an arseing Vodaphone commercial. And another thing, when the fuck will these people learn to say the word "no" properly, its not "noew" its "NO" as in - will I set foot in this piss pit again - NOEW!

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The Burglar's Dog	We were in last night after eight bells and it was absolutely chock full of utter, utter cunts. Never before have we seen such an embarrassing display of fake style mag cool from a bunch of leering, shoving, desperate wankers. And we're the goddamn Dog, for crying out loud. We wrote the pissing review. How do you think that makes us feel? If any of those fuckers there last night were in on our recommendation, then we might as well jack this shite in now. Fuck, we're so ashamed.

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Pete	I drink in the Monkey Bar and when the side door's open in the summer, I laugh my fucking back off watching all them daft twats thinking they're something special cos they've spent half a week's wages on a cocktail. And at least my haircut's only shit cos of mother nature, I didn't pay some ponce a hundred quid to make me look like a roadkill crow.

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Daz	Never mind the prices of the alcohol, have you ever had a "meal" in 'ere? I paid HOW MUCH for a main course the size of a Tunnock's tea cake? I can get a 10" pizza for three quid from the City Takeaway down the road. Cunts. Don't get me started on the punters either. Each and every one of them wants five across the fucking brow, and no mistake.

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Lee	I was a minister at St. John's Episcopal Church, and a mentor for the little brother/little sister foundation. One night I went with some parishioners to Popolo on your recommendation. I woke up four days later naked in a fountain in Tijuana floating in my own piss and covered in what appeared to be the faeces of a donkey standing next to me. Now I'm living on the street, eating alcoholic fleas off the back of prostitute, heroin addicted dogs. All thanks to your review.

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Sally	It would have been nice if you useless bastards had said something about Popolo's soft luxe-bar seating up the back end. Looks like: chocolate mousse and a cushion of angels' breath. Feels like: a tarpaulin over a bed of nails. Fuck me, my arse is sore this morning. Thanks for that, you twats.

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Dave Ramsey	So I went to this Free Trade Inn that youse have insisted upon rating as one of the top 3 bars in Newcastle. Now don't get me wrong, after reading your review I didn't expect it to be the cleanest bar but Jesus Christ I didn't expect it to be THIS much of an utter shit hole. So this is the best Newcastle has to offer? Now by no means am I a snob, but a clean glass wouldn't go a miss like. It was like a fucking saloon with the big twat behind the bar cleaning a glass with his own spit. The wallpaper as well- did someone wipe their arse all over it before it went up? One of the worst bars I've ever been to, and I've seen my fair share of shite. And you misty eyed numpties dare suggest this is one of the best bars? Pfff fuckin berks..... Burglar's Dog comment: Yay! That's what we want to see. Angry, cantankerous, personally abusive, and completely off-topic from the subject of the forum. Now why couldn't everyone follow this sterling example? More, please.

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Jimmy Riddle	You stupid fucks. I could name loads of Newcastle pubs that are better than Popo-fucking-lo, and you say it's "about the only bar in town we can actually stand nowadays"?! What about the Bodega, Tilleys, Duke of Wellington, Trent House? Surely all infinitely superior to that poncey pile of fetid jizz. Even the Head of frigging Steam is far, far better. And they're just the bars that spring to mind (I can't be arsed to think of any more, as that would involve staying logged onto your Popolo-promoting website for far longer than I can stand). Sort it out, you daft twats. Your credibility will remain low until you mercilessly maul Popolo in the way it deserves. Burglar's Dog comment: Ooh, no! Not our credibility! Say it ain't so, Joe. Mind, you're right about the rest, though.

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Pooh	I hate you. Burglar's Dog comment: Tremendous. It's heartening to see that intelligent debate is still in the nation's character. Bit bored after a few Friday lunchtime swallies, were you? Well, allow us to retort. You dismal, cretinous, knock-kneed, wet-nursed, foreskin-fondling pitiful excuse for a human being. How the fuck were you allowed within twenty feet of a computer without adult supervision, you utter spazz? See, now THAT'S abusive, and THAT'S what we wanted from you, not some boo-hoo ickly gurly sniffling. We hate us, too, but at least we can get a reasonable sentence out of it.

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Tony	Come on, lads? Fucking Popolo's? I've known that place was an absolute shitter for a good couple of years now. I even emailed you about it approximately 18 months ago, questioning your choice, but you chose not to respond and to go on championing this den of worse-than-mediocrity. I can't actually work out what made you decide that it's so good, as it seems to represent everything you hate about Newcastle nightlife. High prices. Fucking shite beer. Trendy wankers. Students. Southerners. Cunts. Cunts. And more cunts. It's time you admitted your abysmal mistake and rewrote the Popolo page with the review it deserves - i.e. a very, very bad one. Do it, NOW. I hate everyone there and I especially hate the fucking prick bouncers. Love, Tony Burglar's Dog comment: Yes, it does represent everything we hate about modern drinking. You're right. Contrary little fuckers, that's us. And you can fatten our ankles and call us Susan if you don't like it.

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Ettrick Crunt	popolo? bollocks you fucker, you love the cock and dream of the waiters slowly unbuttoning their black shirts and then pulling a train on your fat ass, you do. Burglar's Dog comment: Fuck you, man. We've been on a diet and our ass is now merely extra large. Stick that in your jam jar and hump it.

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Mazza	tiger tiger is so fuckin bad i would loose my left bollock if the place burned down; i hate all the cunts that run the place!. AND THEY HAVE JUST STARTED A NEW RESTRAUNT CALLED THE GRILL!! IF YOUR SCUM GO THEIR TO EAT! YOU TWATS. BUT I WOULD GIVE IT A MISS ITS SHITE BUT IF YOU HAVE CHIPS WITH ALL YOUR MEALS AND LIKE YOUR MEAT WELL DONE WITH BISTO! WELL HEY KNOCK YOUR SELVES OUT ARSEHOLES!. TIGER TIGER= SHIT!! Burglar's Dog comment: Eh? This is the Popolo forum, mate. The Tiger Tiger one was last year. Off you pop, there's a good lad.

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Helmit	TIGER-TIGER IS FUCIN SHITE!!!!! Burglar's Dog comment: You an' all. Clear off to the proper forum. And learn to "fucin" spell while you're at it.

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Ernie Pubes	What the hell are you on about? Popolo was down as Newcastle's best bar in the patronising Sunday Times provinces "guide" the other week. The fucking Sunday Times STYLE supplement! Does that not tell you something, you fucking halfwits? What's your next feature going to be, a pissing fashion parade? A handbag column? A bitch about Posh Spice? Take a fucking good look at yourselves and what you're turning into, will you? Burglar's Dog comment: You cheeky fucker. It's a good job we've clearly made you up to fill in some space on this rotten feature, otherwise we might have had to kick your imaginary teeth down your imaginary throat. You imaginary cunt.

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Fucker Knuckles	Burglar's Dog comment: Ah, here man. What the hell has happened here? Another Tiger Tiger rant? One is stupid, two is stupid's mate, but three? Right, that's it: FORUM SUSPENDED until we work out what the fuck's going on with this carry on. Here's the message anyway... as a doorman, i was so pissed off with the jumped up managers and the clientelle who were also jumped up wankers, that my first night was my last night, went back to working real pubs and clubs with real ordinary unpretentious people, and i'm happier for it, tiger tiger just nips my shit,

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Floss	SORT YOUR FUCKIN SHIT WEB SITE OUT BITCH ABOUT TIGER TIGER AND IT GOES STRAIGHT TO POPOLO!!!!!!! FUCKIN WANKERS Burglar's Dog comment: How man, dipshit. For your information, "it" doesn't go straight to anywhere except where we want it to. We stuck the Tiger Tiger rants - from a feature that's two years old - on here for comedy effect, to poke fun at our ineptitude on a page that was inviting people to rip the piss out of us. IT'S NOT A REAL FORUM, you cock. It's just another one of our lame ideas to keep the site ticking over. And anyway, the opportunity to have a pop at us has long passed, so you can fuck right off if you think we're putting up with your abuse now, you fucking chump.

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DangerDave	Where to begin? At the beginning I s'pose. Let's kick off by calling you a bunch of spineless twats for not making your own mind up and asking us for opinion so that you can steal all our best bits (probably)... When this former hallowed bar of greatness opened it had the genuine feel and charm of something authentically continental - complete with a range of rum unrivalled anywhere else. Now the authentic (albeit 2nd or 3rd generation) italians have sold it - for fucking loads I hope - to some asset and soul stripping wanknuts who think that smirnoff vodka is a suitable replacement for the 7 varieties previously on offer and the jumper-folding-tossrag-to-genuine-bloke ratio has tipped over the edge I resent paying them any more money. You want high price drinks in a better atmosphere, then go upstairs to the ex-private club that is Secco. Some or none of this may be true, but it certainly feels that way.

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DasGeordie	You think the drink is expensive, try having a fucking meal in the back room. Decided, rather stupidly, to try the sunday dinner in there one... erm, Sunday and it was quite possibly the shittest sunday dinner I've ever had. And I've been to the fucking Chillingham Arms. Cost an arm and a leg and they brought each item out in tiny little bowls. They even made sunday dinner pretentious. I couldn't fucking believe it. And like mentioned elsewhere, how much would it cost to get a couple of bastarding pins to stick the sofa seats down properly? I mean, it's bad enough when you're pissed, but you don't need the added problem of the entire fucking chair departing the scene when you get a bit comfy. Also, the fucking "No smoking before half six/seven" rule they have in the back room boils my piss as it's the only place in the bar that you'll be able to get a proper seat during the day and I don't want to have to keep getting up to walk round to the bar every time I want a fag. However - Longest review ever - I was once in when one of the barmen... Sorry, "baristas" (cuntiest word ever) was doing his Cocktail shtick, spinning drinks all over the shop and showing off to my then-girlfriend when he missed a catch and sprayed orange juice all over himself and his workmate. Oh, how I laughed (under my breath).

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Chenneth	I cant stand this place. Only been once and I would never go back. It was late and fairly quiet and we went with someone who used to work there. What fecked me off was the fact that I ordered a cocktail, and without doubt it is the worst drink I've ever had. I had one sip and was so overwhelmed by the vileness in the glass that I had another sip, just to check I wasn't going mad... but no definitely the worst drink ever. However to add insult to injury the drink was about seven quid, including staff discount! I hope the bastards rot for inflicting such pain on me.

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Dave	Last time I was there some fella was prancing round the bar, on the pull, dressed up in his airline pilots uniform. The full works. I'm guessing he lives at home like. Maybe he had seen Catch Me If You Can? Anyway worth a bottle of brooklyn if the management are going to put on a show like that each week. The Champagne bar in Durham is another corker - its just like you imagine it will be.

Next month we tie our scarf over our T-shirt, check that the rims of our specs are thick and black enough, and sashay to the Central Station to ask the forum:

The Head of Steam - cultural epicentre or sad indie elitists' bar?