You fancy a certain little radgie - but he can’t take his eyes off your fringe? Then let one of these pendants work its magic charms. Made from shiny metal and recently modelled on catwalks and dole queues from Byker to Battle Hill, they’ll set last week’s love-bites off perfectly - and will soon have your new lad gnawing at your neck.

Bored with last year’s finger fashions? It’s time to cover those N.U.F.C. and A.C.A.B. tattoos with a few sovereign rings. They make a sophisticated ‘ching’ when you pick up your bottle of Bella Brusco. And - used properly - they’ll take the side of the face off anyone who makes a move on you, your bottle, or your lad. Young mums can invest in their bairn’s future. They make classy bracelets for babies aged 0-3 months.

Who wants to stand out from the crowd? You’ll only get picked on. The simplest way to look like every other swearing, spitting, Sharon on your estate is to wear hoops - and wear ‘em big. Who cares if your ear lobes are hanging lower than your tits by the time you’re twenty? Make sure the hoops are big enough to fit over your head - including your fringe - and worry about the permanent disfigurement when you’re more grown-up.

Charver Watch I WAS IN Netto, on Shields Road, Byker. A teenage mother was pushing a two-year old around in a buggy. I don't know what sex it was - its face and clothes were covered in chocolate, mixed with the remains of several Greggs corned beef pasties. Like most children, it was curious, and kept reaching out to grab at things. On one occasion, it was leaning out the buggy when mum turned it around quickly, catching the side of the child's head on a shelf with a noise loud enough to stop other shoppers in their tracks. "Watch yer fuckin' heed, divvy," said mummy, before fetching an equally loud smack across its other cheek. Stephen Rogers Shieldfield • Charver mums, eh? WAITING FOR A bus opposite the Odeon, I was approached by a charver wanting thirty-four pence for his 'fare'. God knows what 42p buys, but it'll get you nowhere on local transport. But this seems to be the going rate for a 'tap' and it was one time too many for me. "Why do you come into town without enough money to get home?" "Are ye caalling me tight?" he asked, rather angrily for my liking. "Ah've got mair lowey than yee, I'm fuckin' minted," he said, pulling two filthy fivers from his Kappa pants. Then, realising he'd successfully worked the now watching queue for forty-two pences, he jangled off to try his luck at another bus stop. Christine Walsh Heaton • Forty-two pence buys you two single tabs in a corner shop MY VERY favourite Charver experience happened in the wake of Christmas a couple of years ago on a bus full of festive bargain hunters descending the West Road. I found myself wedged in with a three generation gaggle of Mrs Rebok's finest: Granny Charver, a veteran in her mid-thirties perhaps, Ma, looking like a cross between a bulldog and a racing bike, and the charming Charmaine Charver, a girl of about seven. Once I'd got myself settled in Granny picked up the threads of their conversation: "How Charmaine, wot ye ganna dee with the munny yer Granny gived yer fer krismass, pet-lamb?" Charmaine smiled brightly at her Ma and Gran and replied, "Ahm ganter buy mesel a new buke." Always a keen reader myself, this cheered me no end. Generations of unemployment and no expectations beyond the next can of White Lightning, and still the children have aspirations, I thought. But how cruelly my hopes were dashed as Ma Charver looked down her nose at the girl and with indignation furrowing her brow, rebuked: "How many taims de ah hevter tell ye, yer not gerrin another buke. Yiv got one aalready." Was it not Goethe himself who wrote, "Literatur will jetzt nicht viel sagen, die Epoch der Charveren ist an der Zeit". Roger Sunderland • It certainly wasn't a charver