Happy Suffolk Day, chico. Ah, dwile flonking, takes me back to my youth! My dad had a very strong suffolk accent and could make it broader if he wished. He and his mates had their 'headquarters' at the Bell Inn in St Olaves, right on the river. There used to be hordes of tourists and dad saw a free drink opportunity - nurdling was born. The idea was that a game and probably drunk, tourist was talked into having a go. Dressed in a country bumpkins tunic and hat and carrying an elaborate pole, decorated with such things as a coypu skull, he was propelled to the door to the back corridor which was dark and had a red tiled floor. Someone would hide in the toilet doorway with a pile of tin trays and as the nurdler dashed past the trays were thrown down. They made a devil of a noise and scared the nurdler witless. He emerged through the bottom door to the bar and was immediately congratulated on a successful nurdle and was persuaded to buy a round. My dad was quite a character.