I had taken a day off from work today in the anticipation of having something of a hangover after Sunday’s beer train but rather surprisingly felt quite bright. Despite not getting to bed until one in the morning after several nightcaps of Bowmore I was up and at ‘em early. Gill on the other hand managed to have a nice lie in until about 10:30 so it is as well she had taken a half day just in case of such an event. Taking things at a leisurely pace I went into town with Gill at 12 with the express intention of buying some gear to wear for our holiday.
My first stop was at the barbers for a much needed clipping. I have been going to the same barbers for about five years now and enjoy its very old world charm and the banter of all the lads who work there. It is the only place I know in Newcastle where you can get a hot towel shave with a cut throat razor, although I have yet to enjoy the experience myself. From the barbers it is just a short walk up into the centre of town and the main shopping areas. I’m not a great clothes shopper, I never feel comfortable in the shops or with the staff. I always feel as if they are having a quiet snigger at me as I pick up items they obviously deem to be unfashionable but well suited for me. Paranoid? Me?
To be fair most of this discomfort stems from the fact that for more years than I would care to mention all I wore were jeans with t-shirts or white linen granddad shirts and a pair of trainers/cowboy boots. Basically your standard rock fans dress code. What with my advancing years and receding hair line I dropped the rock look and started to dress in a more conventional manner. This of course meant I had to introduce myself to such weird places as Top Man, Burtons and Next and their bewildering range of garments. I still marvel at the fact that I can buy a concert ticket and tour t-shirt and still spend less than I have to in order to buy a t-shirt by, say, Diesel, astonishing. Anyway despite being armed with these fears and prejudices I walked away from Next with two pairs of trousers (cords and linen, in case you were interested) and a couple of t-shirts (green and red, ditto). My attempts at purchasing a pair of brown leather casual shoes were, however, thwarted by an attack of indecision.
By this point I was losing patience with both myself and the fact that due to the school holidays Newcastle was packed with hormone ravaged teenagers and yapping pre-pubescent kids. Taking my leave I headed down to the Quayside, bagged myself a cheese and onion pasty from Greggs and made for the Ouseburn and the sanctuary of its many watering holes. Along the way I noticed a greater volume of traffic than is usual in this part of town. This was down to the number of middle class couples carrying Baltic carrier bags turning right off the Millennium Bridge and families with young kids walking hand in hand. The reason for this I realised was that they were all making for the newly opened Centre for Children’s Books. Unfortunately the museum is not well sign posted and you have to pass through a slightly run down area to reach it causing some to turn back and others to grip hands more tightly and up the pace. All very amusing as I sat outside at the Tyne watching it all whilst supping my pint. I must have looked particularly rough as none of the quite obviously lost passers by stopped to ask me for directions.
My first stop was at the barbers for a much needed clipping. I have been going to the same barbers for about five years now and enjoy its very old world charm and the banter of all the lads who work there. It is the only place I know in Newcastle where you can get a hot towel shave with a cut throat razor, although I have yet to enjoy the experience myself. From the barbers it is just a short walk up into the centre of town and the main shopping areas. I’m not a great clothes shopper, I never feel comfortable in the shops or with the staff. I always feel as if they are having a quiet snigger at me as I pick up items they obviously deem to be unfashionable but well suited for me. Paranoid? Me?
To be fair most of this discomfort stems from the fact that for more years than I would care to mention all I wore were jeans with t-shirts or white linen granddad shirts and a pair of trainers/cowboy boots. Basically your standard rock fans dress code. What with my advancing years and receding hair line I dropped the rock look and started to dress in a more conventional manner. This of course meant I had to introduce myself to such weird places as Top Man, Burtons and Next and their bewildering range of garments. I still marvel at the fact that I can buy a concert ticket and tour t-shirt and still spend less than I have to in order to buy a t-shirt by, say, Diesel, astonishing. Anyway despite being armed with these fears and prejudices I walked away from Next with two pairs of trousers (cords and linen, in case you were interested) and a couple of t-shirts (green and red, ditto). My attempts at purchasing a pair of brown leather casual shoes were, however, thwarted by an attack of indecision.
By this point I was losing patience with both myself and the fact that due to the school holidays Newcastle was packed with hormone ravaged teenagers and yapping pre-pubescent kids. Taking my leave I headed down to the Quayside, bagged myself a cheese and onion pasty from Greggs and made for the Ouseburn and the sanctuary of its many watering holes. Along the way I noticed a greater volume of traffic than is usual in this part of town. This was down to the number of middle class couples carrying Baltic carrier bags turning right off the Millennium Bridge and families with young kids walking hand in hand. The reason for this I realised was that they were all making for the newly opened Centre for Children’s Books. Unfortunately the museum is not well sign posted and you have to pass through a slightly run down area to reach it causing some to turn back and others to grip hands more tightly and up the pace. All very amusing as I sat outside at the Tyne watching it all whilst supping my pint. I must have looked particularly rough as none of the quite obviously lost passers by stopped to ask me for directions.
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