Panto season? Unnecessarily sparkly clothing? Same old tawdry shite but more expensive. How could December's POTM be anything other than Teatro?

November's Pubs of the Month are The Navy Bar and The Officers' Deck. They've been picked because this bit was written on Halloween, the only night of the year when Bob at No.43 gets his windows smashed for NOT having a bag of sweeties for the kiddies. And on Halloween, when I'm sitting with all the blinds closed, pretending there's nobody home and creeping around by iPod backlight, the ambience is pretty much the same as the Navy Bar on a Tuesday, early doors. Next one with a pumpkin to bray on the door gets nailed to the fence.

Ballistics experts estimate that a bullet fired into the triangle between the eyes and mouth will enter the central nervous system and cause death within 0.7 of a second. Strange that a fact like that should come to mind as I watch this year's intake of students from the windows of October's Pub of the Month, McKenna's, whilst casually flicking through the latest issue of "Firearms and Freshers". Strange also that it's almost impossible to run in fucking Ugg boots in times of - say - blind, sniper-related panic. Very strange indeed.

September. The nights start drawing in, the kids are finally getting the fuck out of Northumberland Street, and the football season lurches hesitantly into life. This month's PotM is Sinners, the replacement for Lennon's, and home to topless dancers, foul-mouthed shock-jocks, a rooftop terrace, cocktail crucifixes and the best in post and pre-match 'entertainement' (sic). Christ, this is starting to sound like an advert. Suppose we'd better add that it's also terrible. We mean really, really fucking terrible.

August. Mid-summer. The veritable dog days. To mark the occasion, we're making the Ship Inn our Pub of the Month for August. Not for its beer terrace. Nor for its close-to-nature ambience above Byker Farm. Not for its tantalising minxes in cropped tops and inscrutable shades. And not for its cooling breezes wafting through the Ouseburn Valley. But for the fact that it's on a hillside, so all the piss bastard fucking fuck rain will simply wash straight by you in harmless little torrents on its way to drown the goats.

July's Pub of the Month is the Black Garter. Yes, it looks a little but scary from the outside, but they've had a refit and they're possibly the only going concern on Clayton Street now that Debenhams are laying down the law about the Eldon Square refurb. And while I'm on the subject, does anyone know if the Lord Collingwood (The Fish Bar) is still open? I've been past it a few times lately, and it looks derelict. Trouble is, though, it always did, even in its heyday. If you know for certain, then drop us a line. Cheers.

June's Pub of the Month is that tiny bar just off the beaten track and right next to the Blue Carpet, Fusion. Perfect for a spot of people watching, with a latte or a lager, a cocktail or a coke, Fusion's pavement cafe is just the place for a daytime breather. And let's be honest here: now that the wrecking crew are knocking seven shovels of shite out of the library around the corner and scaring the bejesus out of the passers-by, they're in need of all the helping hands and free advertising they can get. Happy to oblige.

May's Pub of the Month is As You Like It, a brand new bar under Scottish Life House the in the Jesmond area of Newcastle. It's the bar with a fresh new look. It's the bar with a home-spun ethic. And it's the bar with a fucking pommel horse in it. Jesus.

Quick! Quick! April's Pub of the Month is Bernaccia, formerly Kuba, Agora, Zoots and the Empress, all within the Dog's short lifespan. Quick!! There's a decorator's van trundling down The Side, and it looks like they mean business! They've got purple paint! Quick!!!

March's Pub of the Month spiel was another one of those "buy the book!" things, and didn't really bear repeating on this page. The reason the book advert encroached onto the POTM panel instead of staying in the main feature window was because we were so deeply ashamed and heartily sick of the fucking stupid celebrity photos we've been doing instead of the expected features. Sorry. It won't happen again.

Here we go, then: another month in which we try to whore the Burglar's Dog book to the few who don't yet own it. And another month in which we make some tenuous link between the events of the nation and whichever new bar has opened in Newcastle. This time we're drawing parallels between Tavistock on the Quayside and the sham of Valentine's Day. Let's see, now: over-priced, unnecessary, faux-romantic, unimaginative, lazy and cynical. And they all lived happily ever after. Balls, did they.

January: new year, new broom, new bar. 2007 gets off to a flying start with Eye on the Tyne, the recently-opened establishment that, quite literally, has a view of the "blinking eye" bridge over the river. It is with immense local pride that we bring to your attention this chilled resto-bar, this paragon of second-guess work, this triumph of tepidity. And we'd like you to raise a glass with us to Gateshead's Angel View Inn (nee The Barn), now officially the SECOND most cynical tourist cash-in in the North East. Cheers!

To: Basement Trebles Bar. Happy Christmas, you piss-poor, Dobsons-replacing, student-fleecing, discriminatory, swill-serving, admission-denying, NUS Card-demanding, soon to be bankrupt, ageist cunts. Enjoy this Christmas, cos it'll be your fucking last, make no mistake. Love, The Burglar's Dog xx. PS: CUNTS

It can't be Moot - the appallingly named replacement for the Stout Fiddler, since it doesn't open until the back end of the month. And it can't be Bar 24, because we're too fucking apathetic to trudge down the Bigg Market to review the new Cage Bar / Fizz Fun Pub just yet. So for November's Pub of the Month it looks like we'll have to fall back on the Duke, now spruced up with the most vulgar wallpaper you'll ever see and with the "of Wellington" bit back from the dead. And I tell you now: once the Dog book comes out, it'll be the only place that'll let us in.

October's Pub of the Month is brought to you with this Public Information Message:STUDENTS: NORTHUMBERLAND STREET IS NOT "ON-CAMPUS". MOVE YOUR FUCKING ARSE.

The POTM blather is temporarily suspended for September. Why? So we can use the space to pre-whore the Burglar's Dog book, that's why. But we're still putting Flynn's up as the Pub of the Month, otherwise the front page will go to cock.

Still on holiday, a million miles from the drudgery of Newcastle's drinking scene and fifteen from an internet cafe. This is the life: cheap beer, cloudless skies, and not a tattooed lower back to be seen. No bitterness, no rancour, no whining about purple paint and laminate flooring. I'd like to say we'll come back refreshed and ready for action, but the way things are going we might not come back at all. August's Pub of the Month is whatever it says above: random page generator programme don't fail us now.

Summer in England. The days will always be stiflingly hot, and the air thick and cloying with the constant stench of barbecues. Stressed out employees will be counting the days until they fly away to far-off destinations. Disappointed back-to-workers will be standing with an armful of Toblerones, dressed in something white and sleeveless to show off their blisters and scabs. And The Burglar's Dog will always pick a dark boozer with gloomy little back rooms as its Pub of the Month. Hence: The Red House.

June. The weather's showing signs of improvement at long last. Summer's braying on the door and telling us to turn that bloody heating off. Underdressed student lovelies are lazing in the park and hiding behind huge shades, just daring us to look them up and (mostly) down. And thoughts are turning to alfresco beers outside this Month's Pub of the Month, The Hancock, and of basking in the golden rays peeking defiantly over the monolith of the Civic Centre. WE LOVE IT! Summer, that is; not the fucking awful pub.

...and as part of our spring clean, we're making Casa the Pub of the Month for May. Do you think we've praised it to the skies? Do you imagine we've given a fair and impartial review of beer quality, atmosphere and cashback facilities? Do you reckon we've portrayed it in the manner they would like us to? Before you answer, why not check out the picture above, with the lovely, dainty ladies in the amusing headgear. And then imagine us across the road, picking them off one by one with a high powered rifle. Shrieking hoors.

April. April means lighter nights and better weather. April means the pastel shades and the short sleeves are out of the wardrobe. April means pleasant springtime evening beers. April means a sense of rejuvenation after a long, hard winter. April means the Quayside. And April means that our Pub of the Month is the Waterline, picked at random from our big, floppy sunhat. Of course, in reality, it'll be pissing down, bloody freezing and, on the off-chance that you can get near the Waterline's outdoor tables, there'll be chewa all over the seat. Arse.

March: spring is in the air, the ducks are back in the pond, and we find ourselves making ludicrous promises on our main feature page about cutting out the griping about the state of Newcastle's pubs for a while. That feature was, clearly, written and ready to rock long before Players opened. In a leisure mall that constantly strives for new depths of awfulness, Players reaches another previously unimaginable nadir. Can the Gate get any worse? Sadly, we fear the answer is yes.

February's Pub of the Month, in which we retain our usual format of having a perfectly acceptable pint in a bar we wouldn't normally drink in, and then go home and write unnecessarily offensive things about it in stilted, pompous prose. This month - simply because we haven't got round to using them as POTM before - we slate Grey Street's caviar and oyster bar Barluga for reasons best known to ourselves. Next month we take a good look inwards and ask: what, exactly, IS our fucking problem?

Yeah, yeah. I know we said we were gonna chin Jimmyz this month but, fuck, it's just going to have to wait. The first Pub of the Month for 2006 is Perdu, far and away the most ridiculous bar we have encountered in many a blue moon. It makes Jimmyz look like a night in with a few cans. We're sort of hoping that Perdu is the straw that broke the camel's back, that it'll be the place that finally wakes Newcastle from its slumber and apathy, to cry as one: How man, will you FUCK OFF? Don't let us down, lads & lasses.

Aye, go on then. Seeing as it's Christmas time and our festive meter's at 9 and rising, we'll make December's Pub of the Month the Newcastle Arms, that lovely old-time boozer round the back of the Co-op. A fine choice of beers, a warming orange glow, a decent bit of banter and some tasteful Christmas deccies. Take your nearest and dearest and show 'em how much you love them. Go on, do it. Magic, man. Normal service will be resumed in the New Year, when we stick the fucking boot into Jimmyz.

November's choice for Pub of the Month is driven by one word, and that word is: spite. Spite at the dribbling to a close of another fruitless year. Spite at the Christmas carnage occurring ever earlier with each passing twelve months. And spite that this dreadful bar is forever, without question, no dissent allowed, we-go-there-because-that's-where-we-go, my office local. I have suffered and so should you, even if it's only through reading our self-pitying whine masquerading as an impartial review. Bastards, the lot of them.

October's spanking new Pub of the Month is The Sports Cafe, the latest addition to Newcastle's pre-match beer-and-titties roster, the bar they're already calling "that place on Grainger Street that fell down." Eighty seven floors of resident DJs, chicken wings, and Baywatch Babes. Great! What more could we need? And we promise we'll get a proper picture one of these days; maybe when the queues die down and we won't feel like such a bunch of dicks standing there with our crappy little camera.

...in which the Dog pulls on its £120 pastel polo shirt, slaps a bit of texturing putty on its scabby fur and hotfoots it into Jesmond for the one and only time. Apart from the fact that their shit-itchingly bad "teaser" adverts have left the city in a state of feverish indifference, the only reason we're plugging this place as our Pub of the Month is 'cause we think that the picture of that foxy chick will give our site a bit of undeserved class. And that's exactly what they've done at Mr Lynch. Was it worth the hike? Click and see...

Mid August. The Dog returns from its self-imposed exile with another of its furious features, this time on the subject of unlimited opening hours. Mind, it's not very often that we can be arsed to do a new front page in the middle of the month, so you can safely say that we're pretty fucking angry about something. What? You were expecting us to be in favour of it? You idiot. You think this site is celebrating drunkenness, or something? POTM is the Crow's Nest, by the way. And we're still boycotting Popolo.

July. We're off on our hols this month (read: in the garden, having taken the plug off the computer) and we simply can't be arsed to do any real graft, hence this month's lame feature. We have, though, by way of compensation, revisited and re-reviewed the recently refurbished Tilley's as our Pub of the Month. Bugger us backwards with a donkey's donger if we haven't given it a good write up. Jesus, remember those? I think they disappeared about the same time as the objectivity, the enthusiasm, the tolerance, the...

June. Summer's here, the sky is blue, and to celebrate, our Pub of the Month is Opera Piano Bar, the darkest of bars in the darkest of leisure malls. Blackness inside blackness; misery squared, if you like. Summer's shite, man. Summer brings out the idiots, the wasps and the acres of stretch marked flesh. Summer is Fuckpig Central. And furthermore, we'd just like to say that the next dead-eyed bitch who clips our ankles with a buggy is going to find their fucking child in the bin.

Last month we asked for someone to burn Chambers, little realising that the damn dump was about to close anyway. Just goes to show how firmly we've got our bloody finger on the pulse, doesn't it? Blame the High Level being shut and all the traffic diversions for the fact that we haven't got a clue what's going on any more. This month, we're plugging that Flares bar. The bloody place IS still open, isn't it? And as for June's POTM? Either The Portland or The Haymarket. Ask your dad.

In the review for Fleet Street, we were carping about the derelict restaurants on Pudding Chare and how we always end up depressed before we even get down the road to the bar. This month, to celebrate the reopening of The Italian Job / Casa Italia under new management, plus the fact that the Pig & Whistle was a ruined shell the last time we were in this neck of the woods, we're making Fleet Street our Pub of the Month. Now, if someone could just torch Chambers...

It's a long established fact that we on the Dog don't know our collective arse from a hole in the ground, and base our reviews on whatever bollocks we can come up with when a bar first opens to the public. Starting with March's Pub Of The Month, The Living Room, we intend to revisit each new bar for an update, aiming to pinpoint the stuff we were too blind drunk to see the first time. Fucking Fashion TV indeed. How the hell did we miss that?

A mere six short months ago, when this place first opened as Zoots, we awarded it our Pub Of The Month. The heavens have smiled upon us once again, ridding us of that evil-smelling dump and replacing it with something called Agora, the most ridiculously opulent boozer any of us can remember seeing. Catch it soon, before it gets trashed, or before the Dog's kiss of death comes a-puckering and puts the mockers on another foolhardy venture.

To coincide with the football transfer window, we're making Shearer's Bar and Sports Lounge January's Pub Of The Month. Let's hope the Toon make a better job of signing new players than they did with the bar, or we can look forward to seeing the likes of Adi Akinbiyi in a black and white shirt. Actually, he's not nearly bad enough to reflect the plight of this place: getting the mighty Andreas "Mr Sitter" Andersson back in the team would be closer to the mark.

December's Pub Of The Month is Clear, partly through pot luck, but mostly because we never got round to finishing off the "much requested" reviews of the new, improved Fleet Street and whatever Bar 2XS is calling itself nowadays. Tut tut. Shit the bed, such dereliction of duty. We promise we'll pull our fingers out in the new year, though. Add to those the rebuilt City Vaults and numerous new paint jobs and it looks like a busy start to 2005 for us. Balls.

...and in preparation for next month's featurette called, "Mmm, what a nice bar", we're proud to announce that the Pub Of The Month for November is @Home.

Nice a. pleasant, agreeable, satisfactory, (of person) kind, good-natured; fastidious, delicately sensitive; (of bar) dull as fucking ditchwater.

(Source: The Oxford Dictionary of Current English 1969)

See the feature in the middle of the page? Burglar's Dog Design Solutions? It was supposed to be a bloody JOKE, man. We were - quite clearly, we thought - trying to rage against the death of sanity in the bar refurbishment world and the spirit crushing homogenisation of our drinking venues. It wasn't supposed to be a text book for places like Enigma, October's straw-clutching Pub Of The Month. Jesus Christ Almighty. Let's all point and laugh, children.

The PC is now fixed; amazing what a kick up the jackplug can achieve. And just in time for us to make Hoko-10 our Pub of the Month for September. They've got a fingerprint entry system to the VIP area, you know. I just hope they've got it at the bottom of the piranha tank for when Kieron Dyer turns up. Not sure about you, but if I was a celeb I'd be looking for fingerprint entry to a different city - preferably in another country - and not this fuckwit-ridden provincial cesspool.

August's Pub Of The Month, by virtue of winning a flip of a coin from Hoko-10, is Tokyo. We did the review when it'd been open for, like, two days, so maybe now - weeks later - most of the dickheads who were in then will have found somewhere else to go. Maybe, though, like wasps round your pint, there'll be another swarm ready to join the attack. You pays your money and you takes your choice. Correction: You pays LOTS of money and you takes your choice.

We'd like to award the Pub Of The Month for July to Zoots. It's not for their barely-distinguishable makeover or their glass washer that makes your pint smell like a Yorkshire terrier caught in the rain. Nor is it for their cheesy music policy or their wilfully lobotomised customers. No, it's for their corporate logo, emblazened on their front window, of a haggard old crone disgustedly throwing out a pair of heavily-shat Y-fronts. At least that's what it looks like to us. Genius.

June's Pub Of The Month award goes to North, that tiny, tiny bar up those stairs next to the Central Station. We would like to congratulate them on their judicious use of retro blue movie posters, their unstinting dedication in the field of glitterball putting-uppery, and for patiently, and without complaint, waiting their turn. It was bleaching down with snow the last time we were in, like. When was that? April, probably. Bloody "global warming", our collective arse.

We've made the Cage Bar May's Pub of the Month not because it's any good - far from it - or because we like it despite its myriad faults, but because we're amazed that it's still going. See? You don't need cutting edge refits or fancy gimmicks to thrive in the pub world. All you need is a counter and some alcohol. Mind, you could get your average Bigg Market fuckpig to drink in a cesspool as long as you play DJ Sammy at a billion decibels. Like they do here.

April's Pub of the Month was supposed to be Boom! The 90s Bar but, frankly, we never got round to reviewing it. Sorry. I could just make it all up like I normally do, but I've got a stinking hangover, plus I've only got half an hour before our lass makes me start hitting stuff around the house with a hammer. So, default POTM is the Slug & Lettuce, provider of nice pints in average surroundings of a Sunday afternoon. Where's them paracetamols...?

Saturday. 8:30 am. I'm sitting here watching the snow blanket everything in a thick layer of misery, and I'm trying to come up with some particularly apt text to promote March's Pub of the Month, the ludicrous Wild West theme bar Sam Jack's. And all I can visualise is the rictus grins of those poor dancin' girls as they shake their stuff to the most inane crap imaginable. All together now: "We are the Cheeky Girls, you are the...". It's hopeless.

Or, as everyone who's ever been there calls it, The Twattic. Never before has the trivial matter of a new public house made the general public so bloody furious. Badly designed, pretentious, expensive and full of idiots it may be, but it's still February's Pub Of The Month: criminal activities such as this must be brought to public attention. We feel we must, however, apologise in advance for the swearing in the review. Sometimes only profanity can express your anger.

Oh, for crying out loud, here we go again with another bloody year. What will 2004 bring us? Quaint little alehouses full of rustic cheer? Smart cafe-bars with pleasant staff and tasty food? Or will it bring us more cavernous hellholes like Bar 55°? We know what our money's on, and it ain't the mulled wine emporium. But, as usual, we're duty-bound to bring you up to date with the latest happenings. Just don't think we're encouraging them, right?

December's Pub Of The Month column comes from angry Dog reader Andy from Newcastle, who has a few words to say about last month's choice of the Keel Row before nominating the Bacchus as a replacement. Take it away, Andy...

"After giving the Keel Row the benefit of the doubt on approximately 5 occasions now, I would like to change all my responses in your readers poll connected to 'a bar being shit' to 'The Keel Row'. In fact, better still, I think you should have a 'spot the shit' competition especially for the Keel Row. Whoever guesses the most 'shit things' from your secret list of 'shit things' gets a free house or something. Here's some points to get you started...
CLEAN TABLES - I have NEVER seen a clean table in this pub and have yet not had the confidence to lean on / touch anything for the fear of sticking to it.
DIRTY - The place is dirty... REALLY dirty. Perhaps if the lazy fuckers bothered to pick up the 100,000 ketchup sachets and put ashtrays on ALL of the tables in the 'smoking' section, the floor wouldn't resemble a land-fill site.
SQUEEGEES - A friend of mine made the mistake of touching one of the tables - namely under the edge. His hands were instantly covered in a thick, sticky, black liquid. After a period of general confusion it became apparent that the lazy fuckers use squeegees to clean the tables - thereby dripping 'ash-beer-goo' around the rims of the tables.
BEER GOO - The lazy fuckers don't bother to mop-up the ash-beer-goo from under the rims of the tables, which nicely transfers itself to your hands / clothes.
DON'T SIT DOWN - If you think you're safe sitting down providing you don't touch the tables, think again! We actually watched them squeegeeing large quantities of ash-beer-goo off the table and happily letting it drip onto the seats! For fuck's sake you DIRTY BASTARDS!!!
OFF BEER - A fine selection of beers, most of which are usually 'off'.
dB - Is there any reason to play the music *that* loud when the place is empty?
DANCE FLOOR - Just silly.
CONDIMENTS - The thousands upon thousands of sachets of mayonnaise, ketchup and vinegar annoy me somewhat. Not sure why.
BAR STAFF - The most pig-arrogant, unfriendly, cheeky-fuckers of bar staff I've ever come across. "I'll have a pint of beer which isn't off please?" (with a friendly smile and 'oh, your life must be shit having to work here' sympathetic tone). "WHAT?" (in a 'how dare you speak to me, ever' tone while pulling the same face you'd pull when you've just realised you've trodden in shit).
ASHTRAYS - I've mentioned this before, but it really boils my piss. You can see people are smoking. You can see they have nowhere to put their ash. You're standing around doing FUCK ALL. GIVE THEM AN ASHTRAY!!!
KEEL ROW - What the fuck is a 'Keel Row' anyway??? In an attempt to find out I did a search on Google for "keel row". The 6th hit contained the words 'Tab Collection'... which I thought was quite amusing.
I could go on...

Oh, and while I'm at it I'd like to change all my responses connected to 'a bar being good' to the newly re-opened Bacchus. At last... somewhere to call home - shame it's not open late.
Sorry about the long mail - feel better now.

Dec: "Hi. It's Dec out of TV's Ant & Dec here. Me and Ant are a bit sick of whoring our arses on that Pop Idol and fancy a bit of a change. So instead of trying to persuade people that them hopeless, karaoke-yodelling idiots are really great, we've got together with the Burglar's Dog to try to persuade people that the hopeless, spirit crushing Keel Row is really great. Isn't that right, Ant, you freaky-looking twat?"
Ant: "Aye, you fucking dwarf."

Just over a year ago we made the newly-opened Lord Chancellor's our Pub Of The Month. The crestfallen management have seen their bar stiff so badly that they've changed its name once again and called it, in all seriousness, Pop! As autumn approaches, with its warnings to never return to a lit firework, we once again remind you to never, EVER return to Macey's, no matter what it's called this month. We repeat this message purely for the safety of our readers.

And the Bible tells us: "Revieweth ye not the bar known as Apartment based purely on the teachings of the Chronicle, for they shall be only false." And the Lord spoke directly to St Jones and St Egdell known henceforth and hereafter as the Burglar’s Dog saying, "It is a far greater sin to rewrite a review than to spank a thousand monkeys. For not even in the Kingdom of Heaven does any soul read your crap." So shall it be written, so shall it be done.

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Summer's here. The days are long and warm, and the sun setting behind the bridges of the Tyne is a sight to behold. Beautiful young things wearing next to nothing cavort through the streets, bringing them to life with laughter and filling even the most jaded hearts with joy and youthful exuberance. And, to celebrate, we're making themushroom - the darkest, emptiest, most miserable, subterranean bar in the town - July's Pub of the Month. We're very, very sorry.

...and continuing with our stroll along the southern banks of the Tyne, we come to June's POTM, the bustling leisure venue that is Buffalo Joe's. What better way to relax of an evening than in the company of half a million fornicating office staff, all ripped to the gills on cut-price alcopops? Mmmm-hmm! I love it. It makes me happy to be alive. I wish all bars forever could be just like it. And a late licence, too? Why, that's just fantastic! Oooh, look at them hats! Eeeh!

Partly because we're whole-heartedly behind the Newcastle & Gateshead bid for the Capital of Culture 2008 award, and partly because we're pig-fucking-sick of The Gate and all its dubious charms, we've crossed the water and made The Riverside Cafe Bar the Pub of the Month for May 03.

To tie in with the Burglar's Dog special feature on The Gate, we've decided to make Tiger Tiger April's Pub of the Month. And that's the only reason, trust us. Hey! Why not drop us a line to tell us why YOU were refused entry. We'll be awarding prizes for the following categories:

   * Most childish
   * Most petty
   * Most surreal

The Editor's indecision is final.

Pub Of The Month for March 03 is sponsored by Toni & Guy Hairdressing, providers of comedy £80 haircuts to stuck-up bar staff in pretentious, overpriced leisure mall bars. Cappuccino or Caffe Latte, love? Next month: The Black Garter in association with BBC1's Crimewatch UK.

The jury's still out on this month's POTM. Our lass dragged me round town shopping before we did the review. Not just any old shopping either; bloody shoe shopping. Needless to say they could have grated my scrotum and poured bleach in my eyes and it would still have been a welcome relief. But what am I worried about: it's not like anyone ever takes any notice of our recommendations, is it? I don't know why we even bother...

As the Burglar's Dog limps dejectedly into another year, we're resigned to making Mood January's POTM. I remember when it was all cheesy ballrooms and cut-price clothing stores round here. There was none of this new-fangled mult-eye-plex cinema nonsense. You could get a nice shirt in What Everyone Wants, a few wattery beers in a plastic glass and still have enough change to get your head kicked in in the Mayfair taxi queue. Eeh, them were the days...

OK, then. Maybe I won't actually resign, then. But it's all thanks to our adoring public and the thousands of sympathy cards and e-mails we've received since the counter went tits up (Actual total: 0 cards, 1 e-mail, gratefully received. Egdell will reply when he's out of his huff). Another month sees another new bar in town. I don't like it, you won't like it, but we're making the Long Bar December's Pub Of The Month regardless. Hey, don't shoot the messenger.

Computers are shite. It's not enough that my bastard PC is acting up and crashing all the time; now the fucking counter on the Dog is playing silly buggers. So, whereas I could once weigh up my impending suicide against the 19,000 punters who made me feel that I have a role in life, no matter how small, those useless twats at the server company have reset the counter back to zero. Arseholes. And as for Pub of the Month, you're getting the Pig & Whistle. I resign.

This month we're going to do our Pub of the Month job properly and plug a brand new bar that's been open, like, a fortnight. We are not, however, going to plug their web site, because, to be perfectly frank, it's complete shite. The name of this place reminds me of something: I know a lass with an Italian boyfriend who tells me that Figa is Italian for a lady's front bottom. Is there a clothes shop in Rome called C***, I wonder?

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, wrote someone French, at some point. The more things change, the more they stay the same. And he was spot on with his nihilistic viewpoint. This place used to be Macey's and, behind the refit and the impenetrable façade, lies a renamed boozer that still is, to all intents and purposes, Macey's. We're only telling you this for your own safety. And because we're stuck for a Pub of The Month.

I am in denial. I'm a tub of lard, yet I refuse to diet or even buy a pair of trousers that fit. I'm the ugliest fucker alive, but I'm convinced that all stunning girls are gagging for me, and those who ignore my existence are just bashful. And, even though I'm staring redundancy in the face, and with it mortgage default, I've somehow got it into my head that it's fine to spend £4.50 a throw on cocktails in Intermezzo. I'm a dick. But you still love me, don't you?

Let's face it: you've been piling on the beef lately, haven't you? You need a bit of exercise. And what better way to get your lazy arse in gear than an energetic stroll along to July's Pub of the Month, the Cluny. You could have a salad, some low-calorie nibbles, and still have enough Weightwatchers points left for a few small pints. See? We do love you and we do look after you. You fat cunt.

You're joking, right? You really expect us to be slaving over a hot keyboard typing pub reviews when there's football on the telly? OK, then. Seeing as England have escaped a first round elimination, we've gone all patriotic and picked the George and Dragon as June's POTM. Happy now?

We put a lot of thought into choosing the Pub of the Month, you know. It's not like we just pick a bar at random and hope nobody will notice. We aim to select the most happening places and bring you our personal viewpoint on the very best that this city has to offer, and...

(pulls name out of the hat)

...whoa, shit. The POTM for May seems to be Rockies. Better luck next time.

...in which the boy Jones has a few too many, achieves a lifelong ambition and narrowly escapes a bloody good kicking off his bird.

We've realised that it's no good swimming against the tide, pissing in the wind, or even kicking against the pricks, so we've made Tempter, the latest addition to the growing ranks of cafe-bar-eateries, April's Pub of the Month. Looks like the Pig & Whistle will just have to wait.

Seeing as last month's P.O.T.M. (Stereo) was so poncy that it won some award for being the 'North and Yorkshire's Best New Bar' we though that we'd better get back to grass roots this month.

It gives me great pleasure, therefore to present that den of ambiguity the Monkey Bar. Give me Market Lane's flooded gents over Stereo's proposed 'Japanese style water gardens' any day of the week.

You should see the 'mission statement' on their website. "Eat Drink Lounge", it says. I long for the day that the good old-fashioned Geordie boozer comes back into fashion to replace all these new fangled café-bar-leisure-experiences. "Drink Fight Puke" - that’s the only mission statement I understand. But until that day happens, you’ll just have to put up with the likes of February’s Pub of the Month, Newcastle’s self-appointed 'new social hub', Stereo.

So, like, hello? Like, The Nice Bar? Like, Pub Of The Month? I’m, like, £2.70 a pint? Like, that’s, like, so not cheap? And, like, swivel? Like, chairs? That’s, like, so not funny? And I’m, like, no way? And he’s, like, yeah? And I’m, like, Snakes & Ladders? And he’s, like, so not impressed? So I’m, like... (wanders off to Gap to spend £200 on saggy arse jeans and a ridiculous bobble hat).

....and following on from the success of the October and November Pub of the Month efforts (You didn’t see them? Your computer must be broke, or something), we proudly present the utmost in stupidly extravagant drinking experiences.

A triumph of style over content, a riot of diseased imagination, a veritable cornucopia of pretentious cobblers, we give you... thirty 3i8ht.

Leather igloo? Hoo hoo hoo!

And so, it is with a sad heart and a tear in the eye, that we must bid farewell to our old friend the Bacchus, as it closes for a refit and possibly a complete makeover. Jones met his missus in the Bacchus, you know. Let's ask him for a few words on its passing:

"BURN IT. BURN IT DOWN. PISS ON ITS ASHES AND HOY ROCKS AT THE FIRE BRIGADE. KILL THE STAFF, KILL THE MANAGEM..."

....erm, I think we'd better leave it there, don't you?

"I'm sitting on a railway station, gotta ticket for my destination" wrote short-arse, balding, apartheid-sanction breaker Paul Simon. Had he known about this place, however, his song may have been more along the lines of "Baaarp! Whey ya fu-fu-fucker, them cocktails are canny strong, like. Is that pigeon eyeing up me nuts? The beaky bastard." In D minor.

And just to give you the contrast between the original winter review and the joys of a summertime special, we now present August's Pub of the Month - Centurion.

You know how on Sky they have a contractual obligation to show all the teams and to try to talk up the festering shite into the most thrilling event of the sporting calendar? Live and Exclusive, naturally.

Here on Burglar's Dog Sports we now present the alcoholic equivalent of Charlton v Southampton on a wet Monday night in November: Bar bleeding M.

It's cack, it's pointless, and nobody really cares, but, damn it, you're getting it whether you like it or not.

"Revolution? Where's that, like? Na, I'm not going down there. That's one of them pubs around the Station, full of students and that. Eeh, what shall I wear? Should I wear me sequins and that? I'm not going if I can't wear sequins. JEANS? NA!!"

That's the gist of a conversation with the lasses in my office about straying from the Quayside for one, just one night in their lives.

They were on about O'Neill's, actually, but I'm bummed if I can think of anything else.

Revolution: queues like a Soviet bread shop.