HE survived two nights in a sweaty, stinking Thai police jail, but York born market trader Robert Neilson has since had to face another ordeal - a barrage of appalling jokes from loyal customers.

Robert, who sells pre-packed bacon and gammon at markets across East and North Yorkshire, tells the Diary that when he returned from his trip after unfounded drugs possession charges were finally dropped, he had to contend with cheap jibes from regulars.

"They keep asking whether I've got a joint for them," laughs the amiable 45-year-old, a former pupil at Joseph Rowntree school, York. "I get it all the time. They think it's hilarious."

IN a rare interview, Oscar-winning composer John Barry has mused on his days growing up in York.

Back then he was Barry Prendergast, son of the famous entertainment impresario Jack. He has told his biographers that he loathed life at St Peter's School; but the Guardian reported yesterday that he was "devastated" when it was bombed in the 1942 air raid.

"I remember the whole sky was red," he told the paper.

"I went down with my mother the next day. And I remember the stench. York is full of narrow streets, and the buildings on both sides had been on fire and they had melted the Tarmac off the road.

"All this jewellery and whatever got into the tar, it's still there. I still think of that when I walk down the road."

On a less mournful note he keeps pigs at his home in New England - just as the Prendergast family did when they lived in Fulford.

THE Diary is astonished to see a correspondent in yesterday's letters place casting doubt on the veracity of the Osbaldwick/Derwenthorpe newts, Newton and Ridley.

If they do not exist, who is writing our regular Letter From Amphibia? Here is their latest bulletin.

"Just trying to cheer ourselves up with our favourite singer Tammy Wynewt. After all we have had a stressful time: the death sentence passed on us by the Joseph Rowntree Foundation's housing scheme at Osbaldwick has now been reduced to one of life imprisonment - hard labour interred at Stalag Newt.

"We need migration corridors to be left as we travel long distances for food - simply trapping us in a small field is not good enough.

"On a more cheery note we have recorded our first single. It is our version of the Joni Mitchell classic Big Yellow Taxi called Big Yellow JCB. Full lyrics in our next dispatch."

A WOMAN in Brown's tearooms the other day was trying to find a newspaper for her husband from a depleted selection.

She eventually offered him the Yorkshire Post.

"I'd rather read the Daily Express than that!" he snapped in disgust.

THAT Dick Turpin was a bad lad, rather than a romantic folk anti-hero, is generally accepted. He paid the ultimate price for his life of crime, and even in death he wasn't allowed to rest, as grave robbers stole his body.

He lies now, more or less peacefully, in the graveyard opposite St George's Church, along with other assumedly more innocent souls.

However, their peace is being disturbed in a rather foul manner. So a message has gone out from York's ghost finding community to an animal-loving member of our mortal world...

Will the woman that lets her dog do his Richard IIIs on our Richard Turpin please stop it.

Updated: 09:23 Thursday, September 16, 2004