Back in the eighties there was this hip beat combo band called Talking Heads, whose biggest hit included the words, ‘This is not my beautiful home, this is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?’.

Well, to paraphrase the mad bloke in the enormous suit, ‘This isn’t my beautiful club, these aren’t my beautiful fans. How the *** did we get here?’.

Margaret Thatcher kicking a football, Scunthorpe, September 1988.If the goings on at Newcastle United weren’t depressing enough, we now have a severe falling out amongst ourselves regarding the way we should be reacting to the situation.

(To feature like Jinky, send in your articles for our website to [email protected])

We all fall into one of three categories;

A) Season ticket holder

B) Attending games on a match by match basis including many ex-season ticket holders

C) Not going back until the illegitimate brother of Kim Jong Un finally decides to leave the City.

It’s your call. No one else can tell you what is the right thing to do.

Personally I fall into Category B (ex-season ticket holder), however as I joined in with the dog’s abuse being hurled towards Carver at the end of the Leicester game, yet again I found myself questioning my actions.

The trouble is the whole day out.

Four lads in a car reminiscing about past away games for three hours non-stop, followed by three pints in less than an hour before the game, is what football always used to be about and always will be about.

It’s just a pity about the crap 90 minutes that followed it… Then again, if you are of a certain age, then that’s what we were brought up to expect.

For the lads screaming for revolution, you have your work cut out, because revolution needs very angry young men.

Back in 1988, while the rest of the country seemed to be having a ball under Thatcher’s government (typified by Harry Enfield’s ‘loadsamoney’) that certainly wasn’t how it felt to us up here. Our region was full of anger. The atmosphere at the ground was toxic and often spilled over into violence. We were ripe for change and John Hall tapped into the mood perfectly in order to achieve his goal of ousting McKeag.

But in 2015, those Angry young men are long gone. We have turned into family men, paranoid about our hair falling out, diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes and suffering from erectile dysfunction.

Aren’t we ? Oh, I guess it’s just me then.

So the revolution has to be in the hands of the next generation.

My lot have seen it, done it, got the t-shirt and are now at a time of their life where priorities have changed as much as the game itself. Football is a multi billion pound business. It’s not for me and you; it’s for billionaires to play with. So the big worry is that whoever we get really won’t matter, they are all the same.

‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss’.

In my opinion, the people you need to force boycotts, protests and change need to eat, sleep and breathe Newcastle United, just like we did 25 years ago. My impression though is that the new generation of fans simply have more going on in their life than just a football club that doesn’t give a damn about them. Newcastle is no longer the centre of the universe for many people.

I accept that this is obviously a generalisation, because there are still many who love this club, but there are also many who just don’t have that naïve (stupid) devotion of their parents.

How many people when visiting this site are galvanised and passionate enough to post comments screaming for boycotts and protests? My guesstimate is 1% or so.

To the 1%, I get it. I really do.

newcastle unitedI was hounded out of the brand new Milburn stand in 1988 for singing ‘Sack the board’ constantly for 30 minutes, while we were being gubbed 0-3 by Coventry.  The old blokes accused me of being a Mackem for my lack of support.  So nothing changes.

All I will say to you lads is, we all want the same thing, a club to be proud of, with a team to match.  But remember that the classic tactic of tyrants is to divide and rule.

Fellow fans are not the problem.

Besides, remember that you will be the baldy diabetic a lot sooner than you imagine and time changes perspectives.

It seems like yesterday, when a cracking night out was to  be sat in the club for six thirty, watch the turn , have fish and chips on the way home before sitting down in front of the telly  to watch Michaela Strachan in ‘The Hit man and Her’.

These days my club has closed down and the fish and chip shop is an Indian.

I still like to watch Michaela Strachan though. She’s very good in Spring Watch.

Travel Posters - Tyneside Prints