I've been home for the weekend. HOME home. You know, like where my mum and dad live. Newcastle. Nyerrrcasstle.
Or actually, Washington, Tyne and Wear. Washington. Yes, as in America. No, it's not IN America. Hence the accent. It's the ancestral home of George Washington. No, there's not that many American tourists. Yes, an American president visited us once. I don't know which one. He planted a tree on the village green, or so my Year 6 primary school teacher informed us. Yes, it's a New Town. That means there's a lot of roundabouts. Yes, it was horrific learning to drive there. No, I've never seen Jimmy Nail. Or Gazza. Or Sting.
With Bedders still in Brussels, I had a Proper Family and Friends Weekend. And it was lovely. I had lunch at the Italian we used to go to when we were, like, 17 and fancied ourselves as a bit grown up. The lunchtime special (two courses) used to be £4.95 - now it's £7.50. Still a bloody bargain.
We went for a drink in the Central, site of a crafty hen do some months back. Ah, a grand time was had.
(bloody art teacher outshining us all with her talent)
Oh, Newcastle. Leeds has nabbed me by accident of history, but my heart belongs to you.
And I love this Geordie Jeans sketch from Vic and Bob.
"They're geet tight roond the arse."
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