FILLIES in black fishnet tights, you don't see many of those at York races. Bride-to-be Michaela Graham and her friends turned more than a few racegoers' heads when they turned up in top hats and tails... and fishnets last Saturday.

Michaela, 24, and 12 mates came over from Huddersfield for the first stage of her hen weekend to watch England thrash Denmark 3-0 in Japan and enjoy a day at the races.

It didn't get off to a flying start for Michaela.

First she lost half her friends at the station. Only so many could get a taxi to Knavesmire. She and a group of her fishnet friends had to walk to the racecourse. She missed England's second goal because she was in a queue at the bar.

But by the time our ace snapper Frank Dwyer caught up with her and her pals, the hens had gone free range, so to speak.

- You have heard of green fingers. Now for green feet!

On sale at York's Newgate Market are "ozone friendly socks" - and it must be true because it's on the label.

I asked the stallholder to stand and deliver three pairs as my contribution to saving the world while nodding profoundly at the label's secondary message: "It's your planet, so look after it."

"What is an ozone friendly sock?," I asked the stallholder.

"Haven't the faintest," he said with disarming honesty.

Actually there is an explanation on the back of the label and the truth about the David James ozone friendly socks is more amazing than the question.

It reads: "David James' ozone friendly socks are manufactured using 100 per cent cotton helping keep feet cool and odour-free thereby maintaining a fresher local environment."

Ah! So ozone is short for odour zone? Not exactly.

The sock label goes on: "Manufacturing processes do not include the use of chlorofluorocarbons and therefore are not believed to contribute to global warming."

Oh, come now. "Not believed to..." is a bit over-cautious isn't it?

Sorry, I want better "green" credentials than that.

So how about the next label line: "These socks are not tested on animals (other than humans). Please recycle."

Shopping really... socks!

- MY horny oppo Hallo, who works in an office in York, uncovered the shortcomings of British education when he found himself in that traditional North Yorkshire local, Spearmint Rhino, where young women parade around in their skimpies and dance with poles, and I don't mean the Eastern European male variety.

Harrogate's den of colourful iniquity, which charges £15 to get in and an arm and a leg for a pint of lager, was the scene of the later hours of young Hallo's stag weekend. He fancies himself the linguist, but fell short when introduced to the Gallic charms of Leia, a sprightly young performer who hailed from Montpelier, France... not Montpellier Parade, Harrogate.

Seeking to exercise his knowledge of the French tongue, gleaned from GCSE lessons, he tried asking her how Montpelier's football team were doing.

"It all went horribly wrong," the perplexed polyglot told me.

"I don't know what I said to her, but it was probably something like 'my hovercraft is full of eels' because she looked at me as if I was mad."

Trying again, and suddenly feeling unpatriotic, he asked why on earth she preferred England to France. Wasn't it a lovely country?

Snapping out of French, and by way of encouraging him to hurry up and part with some cash, the luscious Leia replied: "If I wanted to go back to France, I'd go. Now shut up."

Stunned, Hallo decided to do as she suggested.

"I was really hurt," he wailed. "I thought we could have a nice chat about asking the way to the swimming pool, or the use of irony in the later works of Guy de Maupassant. But sadly not."

On the plus side, he said he thinks semi-naked aerobics has a lot to offer. If his wife-to-be ever finds out it will be a case of Hallo, goodbye!

- TEACHER Andy Pandy's eyes were bigger than his belly while holidaying in Greece. Andy is one of those people you meet on holiday who you immediately know is British - if the beanie hat doesn't give it away, the Leeds United shirt certainly does.

He isn't one of those people who jet to foreign climes to discover the delights of the cuisine or culture on offer. He is a chicken-and-chips man through and through.

Several days into his holiday on the sun-kissed isle of Thassos, desperation for his favourite meal led him to make a dreadful mistake he won't forget in a hurry.

Walking past a taverna after a few bevvies one night, his eyes lit on a display cabinet with what appeared to be succulent roasted half-chickens going round on the spit.

Drooling with anticipation, Andy pointed at the spits and used sign language to order what he thought was going to be the best meal of the holiday so far.

When the dish arrived - with chips - Andy began gnawing away. After a few mouthfuls he told his mates the meat was "a bit tough, but okay."

Then one of his pals spotted a jaw bone protruding from the roast, followed by what looked to be an eye socket.

Andy threw his hands up in horror and did a spot of ethnic Greek plate smashing.

In his hungry haste he had not bothered to ask the waiter what he was ordering. What he had been tucking into was half a goat's head!

He swears he is going to give chicken and chips a body-swerve when cooked in Greece.

- A WIGGINTON woman walked into her kitchen to find her husband stomping and thrashing around with a fly-swatter. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Killing flies," he said. "Have you killed any?" "Yeah, four males and 25 females."

Intrigued, she asked: "How could you tell what sex they were?"

"Easy, four were on a beer can, 25 were on the phone."

Updated: 10:09 Saturday, June 22, 2002