Chose an indulgent method of packing for my trip to Newcastle. Partially prompted by laundry laziness, and partly by the prospect of hanging out with stylish student twenty-somethings, I stopped off at Sainsbury's for two new outfits. It was a guilty rush tearing off labels in the car park, but thanks probably to the poor workers of the developing world, I only spent £25.
The miles floated by, accompanied by the Collings & Herrin podcast, then the music of Pulp. I am beginning to get nervous about taking Nick to the Richard Herring show for his birthday. I'm not sure if he's going to laugh at jokes about bumming, I can only hope that nostalgic laughs about growing up will be appreciated. Note to self: supply husband with two pints of Guiness pre-show.
Reached Newcastle just in time for rain, dusk and the rush hour. The photograph of my first sighting of The Angel of the North sums it up nicely. There was a convenient petrol station at the entrance to Gateshead where I picked up petrol and an A-Z. "So, where am I?", I asked the attendant while handing him the map of Newcastle. "Newcaslte", he replied deadpan. "Yes, but where so I can find it on the map?" I tried again. "Newcastle Gateshead". Hmmm
Newcastle in the rush hour was extremely congested with empty buses all avoiding the bus lanes but stationary in the traffic queues. I found my way to a Pizza Hut and left a message for Rich. "I'm at Bigg Market" I said. I was allocated a spot-lit small table in a window by a surly waitress. I ordered pizza. "I only have a deep pan left over" was her response. It is a fact universally understood that a woman dining alone in the evening must be in want of humiliation. If I had come for lunch, I would almost certainly have been welcomed and have been comfortable. I remember reading about the efforts of the hospitality industry to meet the needs of women travellers in the 1980's. There didn't seem to be much progress. The restaurant was half full of tables occupied by young couples and made lively by a two table party. I looked for other single diners. There was a man of about my age occupying a discrete table for four, his paperwork spread out. I felt a stab of table envy. Behind me, an older man in suit and tie was seated warmly by the waitress. I needed to grab a hold of my half finished food twice to prevent it being snatched away, not bad I suppose, as I had to pad out the dining experience for forty-five minutes. As I got up to leave, I noticed that the man from the table for four was standing with a clipboard gazing about the room. The restaurant manager, of course.
Rich later said "I got your message. Bigg Market, I wouldn't go there on my own. Rough end of town."
It turned out that Rich lives in a big Victorian house overlooking the park. The house was all high ceilings, stained glass and rotting window frames. The faded grandeur was complimented by his housemate's collection of paintings and pottery. She was away for the weekend, which seemed a shame as the art was her own work and going by that I would have liked her I think. The other housemate kindly offered me a home made cookie which was delicious and the start of a weekend of sugar eating.
I did meet Rich's girlfriend Bebe and her friend Gaille. We chatted over flapjacks and tea. I was embarrassed that I didn't know where Brunei was, and I didn't ask. The next day I felt better when Rich's old schoolfriend and almost lawyer didn't know either. The girls were frighteningly slender, beautiful, and confident but so warm and nice and funny that they weren't intimidating. They invited Rich and I to dinner next evening which I looked forward to.
The night was made less comfortable as in my non packing planning, I hadn't included a hot water bottle. Fell asleep in my clothes at 2am.
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