I’m not exactly sure where I got to – but I think it was Sunday (well, it WAS Sunday yesterday, anyway). Clearly there are no Sunday trading restrictions in Newcastle. The place was largely open – all day. The only plus was that on-street parking was free in some places within 15 minutes walk of the university. A walk through behind the Armstrong Building…
… where a lot of my studies were completed, led to the “tunnel of doom” – “disaster archway” – the “dreaded passageway”. In there was where all exam results were posted! I found that the “noticeboard of despondency” had been removed – probably years ago. I bet it’s all electronic despair these days. “Gmail Gloom” or “WhatsApp Worry”!
I was unable to try out my life-time membership of the Students Union because the whole place was locked up tight. I hadn’t realised that the students were so respectful of the Sabbath. Actually, I suspect the whole place is in mourning for the recent, sad loss of an agricultural student in some daft, drink-fuelled initiation ceremony. The “Agrics” were always known for their excesses – in everything but excessive learning.
A long time was spent in Eldon Square shopping centre. I met a lady, Maltese Mathilda, while waiting for Glenda in a public seating area. If Mad Mary is mad – Mathilda is absolutely maniacal. I’m not certain where she had escaped from, but she certainly needed to check back in! We had only known each other a minute before she got out her astrology book and started to tell my fortune. According to MMM her marriage had failed because her husband had been a Capricorn and she was a Cancer. Apparently incompatible. Personally, I’d say Mr MMM had bailed out for more tangible reasons. You do meet some characters while out and about!
Obviously, on Monday we had to repeat the shopping procedure. I looked for Maniacal Maltese Mathilda but she and her book of star signs was nowhere to be seen. So, boringly it was Christmas trees and flight socks to look for.
However, first I had to lose the car. Or at least park it somewhere. I headed for the “Biscuit Factory” – now an art gallery on the East side of town. Plenty of parking but only for two hours. Eventually I found an excellent spot just over Byker Bridge. There was an inviting footpath which led down into the wooded valley through which ran the Ouseburn. And under the bridges I found a flock of sheep!
A small flock to be sure but a flock nonetheless. I think four is a flock… and within a mile of the city centre. Amazing. And there were two pigs and a load of ducks as well. The Ouseburn is a tiny tidal stream which drains into the River Tyne at the Tyne Bar (which is in fact a pub!)
The lowest fording point…
… and a solar-powered paddle boat???
Where the burn reaches the Tyne there is a bike-shop-cum-cafe. Just what was needed – a loo, that is! I felt a bit out of place amongst all these fit people in lycra and luminescent yellow vests. But I can drink coffee with olympic cyclists if necessary. Not to mention eating flapjack. Best not to, actually – one member of our family was blissfully unaware of comestible consumption on the quayside.
There is a huge notice on the South bank which says “Go with the flow, swim against the tide!” That’s the Baltic Centre for you. Last time we were there we thought the building was magnificent but the modern artwork inside much less so.
Having stayed at Lindon Hall, I was keen to visit the Bigg Market. The hall had been built by (or at least, for) a Charles Bigge in 1812. He was a banker and merchant and rumour had it that the Bigg Market was named in his honour.
However, it appears that the Bigg Market is a site of historical significance in Newcastle and dates back to the Middle Ages, when it was the site of a thriving market-place that formed an important part of the Great North Road. The market was named after a type of coarse barley, known as Bigg Barley, that was widely sold from the stalls. Sorry Charles!
I thought we might have a different joke today (Having mistakenly told you the same one twice!). Did anyone notice – or remember the punch-line? This one is seasonally appropriate.
An elderly man in Phoenix calls his son in New York and says, “I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing. Forty-five years of misery is enough.”
“Pop, what are you talking about?” the son screams.
“We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the old man says “We’re sick of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her,” and he hangs up.
Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. “Like hell they’re getting divorced,” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this.”
She calls Phoenix immediately, and screams at the old man, “You are NOT getting divorced. Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back, and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up.
The old man hangs up his phone, too, and turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says, “they’re coming for Thanksgiving. Now what do we tell them for Christmas?”