Heading off to the seaside now, without ever actually seeing it on the 20 minute metro meander round the coast.
The revelation on the metro journey came late.
“Next stop Tine-mouth”
I’d always been told it was “Tin-muff” by those evil Geordies.
I’d always also been told that railway stations were places you bought overpriced coffees and found yourself caught short when the loos are inexplicably shut.
Now I realise railway stations (never mind the arches) are merely homes for micros.
Sadly I was on a tight timetable, arranging to meet Electric Pics on home turf back down the line in Whitley Bay. And besides it was raining.
So I can’t bring you my usual investigative piece on the joys of Monkseaton, which Wiki reckons has a scarcely believable 19,044 souls. That must be the population of Whitley Bay, surely.
There must have been 20 of those souls in the vast Left Luggage Room, but it was so dark there might have been 200.
Quite why Monkseaton needed a left luggage room bigger than your house is another unanswered question; I guess Tynesiders forget stuff when they’ve drunk too much Newcy Brown.
But it makes for a splendid pub, with high ceiling, loads of proper seating and a great view of the trains you’re missing.
A bewildering selection of drinks.
“Oooh, that’s a bewildering selection”
Chaotic, which I like a lot. Reminds me of the station bar at Kidderminster, which can’t be bad.
At the bar I attempted to pay in pennies rather than 20p pieces, which at my age I can blame on the lighting. It took me ages to pay, but I wouldn’t be beaten by the fact that I’m incompetent.
There were a lot of gentlefolk in a mixed crowd, but they probably pay by contactless.
Anyhow, more top beer, Sessions from Northern Alchemy, and more evidence of the true north’s enduring Dylan fascination.