Home again

     We are home.  That seems simple enough.  I don’t think it’s as simple as it seems though.  I find the kind of travel that we engage in to have an emotional component.  I don’t mean a casual emotional component as in isn’t it nice to be home, or what a nice place we visited.  I mean a profound emotional element as in missing the places and people who were part of our adventure, and a bit of shock at returning to the rat race.  The last few days I would find myself thinking of the people and places we had been and the tears would start to well up.  It was a very intense feeling.

Leave her, Johnny

Oh the times was hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow
And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the voyage is done and the winds do blow
And it's time for us to leave her

     Kristi and I first started singing this song to ourselves as we listened to Kimber’s Men sing it on a CD we bought from Joe Stead.  We never did really learn the song, but the sentiment of a journey that has been hard, and trying yet somehow rewarding, and difficult to let go of has stuck with us when we hear this song. 

     There are some definite perks to being home.  Our kingsize bed is one of the most immediate, and pleasurable.  It is nice to be with our “stuff”, although I have grown unaccustomed to using my stuff over the last month.  It didn’t take long.  We didn’t watch much television while we were gone, but then we don’t watch television when we are home.  We didn’t watch movies while we were gone either, and maybe we’ll do some of that now. 

Kristi, Val, Jimmy and Steve at Jiva's home in Blyth, Northumberland -  One Last Picture

     For me there is always an element of wondering where the illusion ends, and reality begins when evaluating the journey of life.  I hypothesize that most of us have a lot of romance in our perceptions, and I thoroughly believe that all of us, without exception, have something we believe that is absolutely, unequivocally untrue.  That’s a pretty easy thing to say, as there is new knowledge coming into the world all of the time, and beliefs are being crushed, and dismissed daily.  Most of us probably don’t think about that, but I’m certain that it’s true.  On the other hand, that may be the thing that I believe that isn’t true. 

     I have always been the kind of person who is entertained by almost anything that I don’t understand.  Maybe it’s more true for me to say that I’m entertained by things that I only partially understand.  That means that travel in a foreign country is immensely entertaining to me all of the time that I am there because I only partially understand so much, and thoroughly understand so little.  I also feel the struggle of people everywhere I go, and have a great empathy for them.  At least this is true in the best of circumstances where I understand enough of their language etc. to be able to take in their life stories.

Does being on an airplane change how I look?

     We were asked a number of times whether we would be coming back on another tour.  This was always asked with a  hopeful note.  We have been better performers, and I have had a better repertoire of songs every tour.  We are currently thinking about beginning to book another tour.  We may begin the process soon. 

                                                                                 

 

Kristi at a B & B in Airdrie, Scotland

FROM KRISTI

Home again.  It always serves my sagging spirits now and then to, as my mother would say, "count my blessings".  So before I even left Tacoma for this trip I began to savor the moments of my life here.  That is to say, I anticipated being homesick by drinking in what I knew I'd most miss.  Parting was such sweet sorrow.  I trained my eyes to drink in the unrivalled beauty of the snow-capped Olympics and Cascades from every elevated distance.  The towering heights of the evergreens looked more precious than anyone else's trees in the world.  The rugged and forbidding wilderness beyond my views made me appreciate what's left that is yet untouched by human cultivation in this state.  I treasured my usual treat from my neighborhood chocolatier, Johnson’s.  I luxuriated in my pillow-top king-size bed with down quilted covers.  I roamed around my rooms feeling the roominess of them, and felt queenly with my very own appliances and furniture.  The very straight-ness and width of the city streets beckoned me with their simple stoplights and ample curbs.  Not to mention all my peeps!  The safety and familiarity of everything seemed precious, not boring.  And now I'm really home after all the stress of getting here from those tens of thousands of miles of distance, the ordinary never looked so extraordinary.

Leave Her Johnny, Leave Her

   

   I don’t know if I’ll be able, or even willing to write anymore from the U.K.  We will be getting on a plane the day after tomorrow and in the meantime I am preoccupied with getting ready to go, and playing our last couple of gigs.  I would like to thank everyone who has helped us in this journey.  We could not have made these many trips playing folk/acoustic clubs without you.  We are often overwhelmed with the generosity that is shown us.  So, thank you, thank you, thank you.  This includes all of the people who gave us a bed, and meals, and guidance in a foreign country.  It includes all of the people who come out and support these clubs around the country.  It includes the people who have booked us, and especially those who have booked us back again.  I am grateful for the many conversations, and friendships made.  Kristi and I love you all.  

    I woke up from a dream in which I was singing “My Home In Washington” at the top of my lungs a cappella in a group of people that I didn’t know.  Kristi has been singing “The Long and Winding Road” to herself.  It has been a wonderful month, and it’s not over yet.  So thank you.  

Steve and Kristi - Premium Roadies

     3/28/014
     Tonight was undoubtedly one of the high points of our journey.  We roadied for The Barrow Band to Greenoch, Scotland for a children's performance.  Let's get one thing straight.  The children were being performed for, not doing the performing.  I have watched the genesis of the Barrow Band for a number of years now.  When we were here five years ago my friend Malcolm LeMaistre had written all of the songs that The Barrow Band now performs.  He had just recorded them, and he gave me a rough mix of the songs, so I'd heard it before.  I had played Bob the Beaver with Malcolm, and he tried to teach me the Bob the Beaver dance, which in spite of my enthusiasm for the idea, was unable to entirely grock the dance.  Well, it turns out that Malcolm has been a serious modern dancer for most of his life.

Malcolm setting up

      Now I have been known to write silly songs.  I have written a song sung by a seagull who is singing the great pleasures of eating garbage.  I have played, and sung a song that is a pig singing the joy of dancing the polka.  I can understand going in this direction, but I was never as smart about this kind of songwriting as my friend Malcolm is.  He actually incorporates important information in the songs, and part of the act is getting children to answer questions based on the songs.  When I first heard them, I was probably less than enthusiastic having been made a fan of Malcolm's other work.  Tonight seeing Malcolm perform for children, seeing him dance, sing, act the character that sings those songs about fruits and vegetables, I was entirely taken with it all.

     The Barrow Band itself is all younger than Malcolm, and they are all fine performers and musicians in their own right.   I got to meet them, although I didn't really have any meaningful conversations with any of them I heard them sing, and play with Malcolm.  I think that was enough.  Kristi and I helped to move gear in and out of the venue, and I did a live recording.  I would have videoed their performance but it turned out that it would have been illegal to have done so as we would not have had the permission of all of the parents involved so I didn't do it.  I did a little bit of video before their performance, before there were children involved.

Malcolm @ home (the farm)

      It is great to be here.  We have great conversation, and it feels like more simpatico than almost anyplace else we go.  Kristi and I both feel a little bit like we are going home when we come here to Scotland.  It is the "Outback of Bohemia" here, and we all understand each other perfectly.  Malcolm, like me, is very environmentally concerned.  He expresses a great deal of horror at some of the attitudes that are in public view in the USA, like gun rights.  The truth of the matter is that a lot of the things that are wrong in the USA are wrong here as well.  One of the other big ones about the US in his book is our corporate medical system.  He, like me believes in basic human rights (food, shelter, medical).  It would probably involve a minimum income as well.  Call it what you will, it would be a more egalitarian world, and it would leave the world room to solve some of the problems that we all share, like global climate change.
     We are about to head out on the road again, this time back to Blyth.  From there we will be finding our way to Syston, a suburb of Leicester (pron. Lester).  It is the final legs of our journey.  Last night we went out for Indian dinner and said our farewells to Malcolm and Mary.  It feels a lot like coming home here.  The entire experience has felt a lot like coming home in some regards.  It’s not over yet.  Tomorrow night we’ll play with a band, which should be a kick for us, and I hope for the guys.  It definitely isn’t about money.  Gotta get on the road now.  More later.  Steve N.
West Lothian betsanbobs ADDENDUM :
Mename isna Kersty et's KRESTY! Aye, Malcom has a crackin' sex piece band.  Et's a wee bet culd aroon here.

Arrival in Scotland or Back @ Gowanbank Again

   

Malcolm and Mary's "Farm" on the Loch

     We have been in Scotland for a full day now.  Last night we were floor spots (opening act) for a five piece band.  They were local heroes.  Kilmarnoc Edition was their name.  I've got to say that the response to us was overwhelming, especially after we heard the band play, and the other floor spot.  Frankly, we brought the house down.  I didn't feel that we did anything special.  I guess we were just in the right room with the right songs at the right time.  We played my song, "Whistlin' In The Rain" first.  They were clearly right into that song, and sang along once they got the idea of what the chorus was.  After that we played Stephen Foster's "Hard Times".  They all sang along to that one.
     The band was two women singing,  a rhythm guitarist who sang and wrote songs, a drummer who also played guitar and wrote songs, and an acoustic bass player who sang and wrote really funny songs.  There were few harmonies, but everyone was competent, and the guitar player had a great voice.  He is truly and exceptional singer.
The bass player plays with a swing/rockabilly trio and is a very funny guy.  He is a Russian transplant to Scotland.  We played first and stayed until the end.  During the break the bass player told me I have a very convincing American accent.  In a small talk situation here I often just tell people I'm from Seattle because most people have heard of Seattle, and I don't like to make a long explanation of where Tacoma is because the only thing they'll actually understand in the end is that it is near Seattle.
     We drove the A-1 motorway to get here.  At one point Kristi commented that she thought that they might have turned it into a larger arterie to the north by now.  It is often only two lanes populated by trucks going between 30 and 40 mph.  It runs along the ocean for a long stretch, and is somewhat scenic.  We have driven it a good deal by this time.  If we follow the GPS it often takes us on a backroad, smaller, but less trafficked.  We have visited quite a few places on the A-1 so the drive is full of memories for us.  There is Holy Island, aka Lindisfarne, Bamburgh (bamburrah) Castle, Berwick (berrick), and quite a few other castles, some right on the motorway, others a short drive away.  Northumberland is full of castles.  They range in age from the 19th century back to the 13th century.  Berwick went back and forth between England, and Scotland several times over the ages.  At one point the English killed everyone in Berwick and left the bodies to rot.  There is much bloody history here.  Of course, that's humans wherever you go.
     We have gotten so we are often quite perfunctory in our travels.   We simply get in the car and drive to our destination, having seen enough of the sights to at least have the strength, and resolve to resist them.  We haven't seen everything, but we have seen more of England than most English have.  One thing I haven't mentioned is that the singing guitar player had seen Kristi and I in Haddington.  It had to be 2002, or 2003.  It was definitely one of our first tours.  He was quite complimentary.

Gowanbank Resident Peacock

     We are staying at Gowanbank in a house owned by our friends Malcolm and Mary.  It is probably the last time we'll stay here, as we just happened to get here in between rentals of the place.  They have a renter that will be moving in on Sunday when we will move to a B & B prior to making our escape (temporarily) from Scotland to stay one more night with Jimmy and Val, and then on to Leicester to play one more night with John Montague and company.  Today we'll go to Greenoch and see Malcolm and his "Barrow Band" at the city hall there.  We'll try to get out of Gowanbank early enough to be tourists for part of the day before we go to Malcolm's gig.  I can feel that Malcolm and Mary are quite stressed, having had a number of financial misfortunes with these houses over the last few years.  I think that they feel like a lot of people our age, that they may never actually have the opportunity to retire.  Malcolm, like me, wonders how long he'll be able to continue playing music in any kind of credible fashion.  That's life.
     In the meantime we're staying in the Scottish countryside, meeting people, and seeing some sights.  Last night was quite rewarding as the organizer made it quite clear that he'd welcome us back as a guest.  Success.  Somehow it does feel this time like we have achieved some success over here.  I am enthused about returning, and I haven't even left yet, although we only have two more gigs left, and I don't think we'll be playing anymore floor spots this time, as folk clubs are usually during the week, it is the weekend, and we will be traveling again on Monday.
    This coming week will be our last in the U.K.  We will be back in Scotland on Wednesday night to play the Dunfermline Folk Club.  Malcolm told me that he and Mary and company will be coming out to see/hear us.  It is a very homey little club, and we are personally acquainted with several of the members.
We'll probably not have a chance to tell you about that until we get back to the USA.  We fly out on Thursday.  Steve Nebel  

On The Road Again

     We’ve been out on the road for a few days now.  It has been that intense driving, driving, driving, take a quick nap, have something to eat, get the guitar out and play after driving to the venue from our host’s house experience.  As I say, an intense experience, but gratifying.  The gigs went really well.  We played to extremely enthusiastic audiences, sold a few CDs, and got to see some old friends.   We left Blyth about 10:15 am on Thursday.  Our goal had been to leave by 10 am.  We had a last minute telephone emergency and had to pay for some more minutes on the phone which involved booting a computer and logging into the site for our UK phone service provider.  It seemed a little bit like we hadn’t been driving, because Jimmy has been driving us to all our gigs while we stay in Blyth.  We drove to the Bridge because Jimmy and Val had a gig that night, but other than that, we’ve been walking most places
     The first gig was Bishop’s Stortford Folk Club, better known as “Stortfolk”.  We stayed with John and Hillary Macnamara the first time we played Stortfolk I believe.  Since we have stayed with Geoff, and Jacqui Leeds in Sawbridgeworth.   Geoff, and Jacqui are both actors, although Jacqui is disabled these days and doesn’t act.  Geoff, on the other hand, is quite active and was out performing in a play (opening night) on the night that we played the folk club.  That meant that we drove to the club (Geoff usually drives us), and he showed up a little late, but I think he and Jacqui caught our entire set.
     It was the usual format of floor spots, us, raffle, floor spots and us again.  Stortfolk used to be held in a church.  The local priest served drinks from a small booth in the back, and we all played in a slightly cool, dark room.  We were always amused by the church, the priest, and the booze.
     The club is populated by a very talented bunch of people.  For the most part their floor spots know how to play their guitars, accordions, whistles, etc. fairly well, and usually sing on pitch as well as being hilarious much of the time, welcoming, and generally fun.  Now the club has moved to a British Legion Club.  It is warmer, lighter, and much smaller.  They had a good attendance for us, which was nice.  It doesn’t pay much, but that said, Geoff and Jacqui have bailed us out a bunch of times when we needed someplace to stay near London.  Did I mention that Sawbridgeworth, and Bishop’s Stortford are just on the outside of London?  Geoff commutes into London a few times a week these days.  He used to go to work 5 days a week, but he is now semi-retired.

Geoffrey Leeds (actor)






Jacqui Leeds (acting)

     On Friday we discovered that we were having some technical problems, which we ended up having to spend some time remedying.  We did get that done, and got underway to Southampton, which was about 3 hours away (as it turned out).  The drive south is far enough that the world there is a little greener than in the North, there are more birds, and I have the feeling that the population is a little more affluent, but I don’t really know that.  I still get a little sleepy in the afternoon, but didn’t fall asleep driving, which is always a good thing and arrived at our hosts home right on schedule, and with enough time to get a very short nap  They fed us, and we chatted through dinner.  After dinner there was just a little bit of time to get ready to go to the folk club, which we drove to.
     The Fo’c’sle Folk Club is held in the backroom of the Richmond Inn, a neighborhood pub replete with ruffians, and karaoke singers.  The members of the Fo’c’sle Folk Club are a world apart from the barroom patrons.  Our host, Brian Hooper was the MC, photographer, and he played a floor spot as well.  Our old friend Trevor Gilson was there, and it was really great to see him.  By now the club members are fairly well familiar with us, and they were very enthusiastic about our performance.
     After we got back to our hosts home (Christine and Brian Hooper ) they fed us “cheese and biscuits (crackers)” and we visited.  Brian had a stroke a couple of years ago, but recovered well.  If he hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known.  Christine was a little bit quiet, and I was not.  Kristi was her usual friendly, curious self and I think makes a good impression.
     On Saturday we left the Hoopers’ around 11 am.  Brian gave us directions to get to Stonehenge where I contemplated the great motion picture “This is Spinal Tap” all afternoon.  I can’t say I was disappointed in Stonehenge, but it was £15 apiece to get in and I don’t think conceptually too much more fantastic than Avebury (although I’m sure someone will disagree with me).  There is a very nice museum there with just the right amount of information, and laid out to be quite digestible.  It includes examples of the dwellings that people would have lived in during the Stonehenge “era”.   I thought that the burial mounds which you can see in the distance from the Stonehenge site were interesting.  The area of archeological interest is much more than just the Stonehenge rock formations.  When we visited Avebury, there was no charge to see the site, and you could wander around at will in the site.  One result of visiting both of these sites is that now we know that there are several others to visit in the U.K.

How the archeologists think they lived back then (budget housing).

Kristi on the bus to Stonehenge

£14.90 a head

Here's what we came for

How we got there

Kristi being a proper tourist

                                                          This is Spinal Tap

    I’m still a bit tired after being on the road since Thursday.  It is Sunday, so it wasn’t a temporally long trip, just a lot of miles.  We had planned to stop in Loughborough, which is a three + hour drive from Blyth.  As it turned out the hotel we wanted to stay in didn’t have a parking lot.  We would have had to park in a parking lot about three blocks from the hotel, and haul amplifier, guitars, bags etc. to the hotel room, and then back to the parking lot plus go through the hassle of having the hotel remunerate us for parking.  We decided not to stay there.  Oh, and we had made a mistake in our booking so they were going to charge us twice as much, and we would forfeit the money that we had already paid.  Our mistake, but we feel that they were uncooperative, and in the end downright hostile.  That was Travelodge.
      So we made the three hour drive to Blyth in the dark after calling Jimmy and Val and letting them know we would be in late.  They said OK, and away we went through the wilds of Yorkshire, Durham, and Tyne and Wear to finally arrive back in Blyth, Northumberland where the North Sea washes the shore, and the big wind generators roar.  There are a number of places in the UK that feel like home now, and this is one of them.  We’ll tell you more about Blyth next time.

The Bridge Folk Club, St. Patrick's Day 2014

FROM KRISTI (not yet billed as Kirsty this year):

  I'm sure other performers have written about the experience of playing at The Bridge Hotel in Newcastle but not yet me.  The upstairs venue  has been graced by far brighter luminaries than myself over many decades.  Photos of superstars line the narrow steps to the room above the bar.  The hotel is nestled up against a huge steel riveted bridge with two levels, one for light rail and the other for buses.  It crosses the Tyne River alongside another half dozen or so bridges.  It's on a slope down to the riverside, and at a level below one of them.  Another trestle follows the riverside with yet another light rail train.  The Bridge Hotel is a well-kept, classy, glassy, brassy place with bevelled mirrors, big polished door handles, and stained glass everywhere it seems both upstairs and down.  The room upstairs, with a stage and tables seating around 45 at most, has high ceilings surrounded by colorful stained glass windows.  On this moonlit night the trains criss-crossed in two directions high above us, lit up.  As they glided by without wheels they weren't sonically intrusive but were hard to ignore.  They lit up the colors of the stained glass from both walls near the ceiling, and appeared dream-like, to be sailing off into the stars. 

     We drove to the Bridge Folk Club alone this time.  Many times we have come with other people but Jimmy and Val were out gigging, and so alone we drove.  Dave Minikin was already there with a few other regulars at the club.  We have stayed with Dave, and his wife Christine in the past.  We caught up with personal news a bit; both of us have moved.  Dave and Christine have moved to a smaller house, and we have moved to a larger house.  It wasn't long before Fraser Gill showed up, and after him old friends from Leicester Pete and Kate Burnham.  I had heard that Pete had moved up north somewhere.  Jimmy and Vals' friends who we had gone to dinner with on Saturday night, Jim and Allison came as well.  By the time everyone had had their floor spot, and it was time for us to play we were personally acquainted with about half of the audience.  

     The night started off with everyone who had a mind to performing.  There was a blues guy with a lap acoustic slide guitar, several unaccompanied singers, and at least one poet.  The last singer was Jim Wigfield who sang a song that he wrote about South Shields where his wife is from.  Our sets went very well.  I sang "Durham County" written at the home of our deceased friend Fred Brierly.  I've got to admit that by the end of the song my eyes were wet, and I couldn't manage to sing the last line in the song as I had reminded myself quite well of Fred and all the times we had spent together in his last few years.

     It was lovely seeing everyone.  Getting out of the vicinity of the Bridge Hotel was interesting as the streets were full of young people who had been drinking.  It was St. Patrick's Day, and Newcastle has a drinking reputation to keep up, and I must say was doing quite well for a Monday night.  They were on the sides of the street, so many that it looked like a parade.  As cars stopped for stoplights, the pedestrians came out in the street.  I didn't see anyone get hit by a car, and I saw a lot of smiling faces.  It was a fun night in Newcastle, and we were part of it.

     

Down Plessey Road

     

     We’ve been staying in the mid-sized/small town of Blyth, Northumberland.  So far I’ve noticed that it seems to generally be a pretty average community.  There are obviously people here who are doing very well financially, and people who are doing better than average, and a lot of average people.  We are staying at a house on Plessey Road.  Yesterday we traversed the length of that road and found that it starts near the North Sea and ends less than 100 yards from where we are staying.  The houses near the ocean are clearly a more well heeled neighborhood than where our friends, Jimmy and Val live.  That’s not to say that Jimmy and Val are living in any kind of inadequate housing.  They live very much the same as we do.  As a matter of fact both of us live in neighborhoods that are known to be occupied by economically challenged humans.

      Another interesting fact that we hold in common is that Jimmy and Val were advised that there is a neighborhood in Blyth where they were not to move in any circumstance as we were warned about the heart of the “Hilltop” neighborhood in Tacoma.  I have yet to examine in any depth the reasons for the undesirability factor.  

Down by the ocean - other end of Plessy Rd.

     Jimmy said they looked at one house in the neighborhood they were advised against, and it was run down beyond what they wished to purchase.  Kristi and I, on the other hand, found a house that was run down just the right amount for us to live in for the next 17 years.  We did see a lot of houses that were unacceptable to us before we found the right amount of "run down" that was acceptable.  The population of Blyth is only 36,000 or so.  Of course Tacoma is 250,000, a much larger metropolis. 

South to North on Sprague Ave. (our street) 

     I am aware that my view of things here is myopic, and subjective.  On the other hand, life in Blyth is good from our viewpoint.  There are many interesting places with a rich history in the area.  One of the places is Tynemouth where there is an old Monastery on a point jutting into the mouth of the Tyne River.  Kristi and I first discovered this on our own, and later returned on a sunny day with Jimmy and Val a few years ago for a visit.  There are myriad castles in Northumberland, which we have seen a few of, and may see more of before we leave.  Some of them are new (19^th century), and others date back to the 13^th, or 14^th century, maybe earlier.  

     There is a daily life that is much more immediate here on Plessey Road.  There is a green grocer, and Co_op grocery story, and a bakery/sandwich shop down at the corner.  You can live here without an automobile.

Green Grocer, Sandwich shop on Plessy Road

     I think that you would find that generally life is very much more automobile oriented in anyplace in the U.S., and certainly on the west coast than in the U.K.  That is not to say that people don't have cars, because they certainly do, and on a Saturday you'll see them all parked on Plessey Road.

The Cooperative

     I think it's only fair that I give you a firsthand look at the urban decay evident just down our street.  Here's a house that is in disrepair, and if I'm not mistaken they had some visits from the local police department before the house was condemned.  I don't know the story, just have seen the evidence.

Condemned house on our block in Tacoma

    I'm trying to draw some kind of comparison here.  Life is different here, but maybe only in a superficial sense.  There is a much greater density of population, and I think there has been a good deal more planning that has gone into the development of land here in general.  Right now there is new housing being built (I heard a report about it on the BBC radio yesterday).   I have seen it here in Blyth.  

The end of Plessy Road

    The ocean is always attractive (to me at any rate).  There is a very large wind generator that is at the very end of Plessey Road.  The waterfront has a pretty impressive sculpture, and if you walk down far enough there is lots of sandy beach available to walk on, have a polar bear dip in the winter, a good swim in the summer, or sit out in the rain under your umbrella at any time of year.  

The other end of Plessey Road

Blyth Pilot Boat

    This is what the pilot boat was piloting.  It came a dieseling into Blyth about 5 minutes behind the pilot boat.  You can see there is industry going on here.  Blyth was at one time one of the major ports in England.  

  Beach Vendor

  At the beach

     These last pictures are really from 2011 when we visited Blyth.  It looks the same only more grey at this time of year.  There were people out in force even in March.  You had to "queue" in order to get some fish and chips, or some ice cream even in March on a Sunday afternoon.  

A Pictorial Day in Newcastle

Jimmy and Val near the car park.

Our extremely excellent hosts Jimmy and Val indulged us for a day of escapism in Newcastle.  It's named after the new castle which is only a thousand years old.   I had asked to see the Great North Museum at the city university.  It was conveniently located nowhere near the car park (see how comfortably I make the language switch here) meaning we needed to walk completely through downtown and soak in the sights first.  I found domed rooftops seemingly everywhere which made me wonder if there's a reason for that rhyme.  Once again we add a chapter to the series of Steve's photos of my butt.  In all our leisurely travels he surrepticiously stops on sidewalks and shoots the camera at my worst angle.  We have photos of my butt in a dozen or more interesting places and you'll not be seeing any of them here.  It was a fine day in every respect including the dinner at an underground Italian place near the quay.  Look that up.

I read "Down and Out in Paris and London" by George Orwell
before coming on this trip.  This hallway was once one of
those portals to impoverished hell described in
the Orwell memoir.

Can't get enough of those spectacular arches everywhere.

These are good times.

Much better view from the front.

Who knows what this soup kitchen looked like inside when it was first used.

This is the portal to hell from another view.

Dome #1.

Now we're in Grainger Market.  Note the pork pies.  Steve's most favored hat, called a porkpie, is named after the overhead view of it which looks exactly like one of these.

Doc Marten's store in Grainger Market.

Famous guy whose face nobody ever sees from the ground.

Yet another dome.

Here's where the architecture starts to get less interesting, saved by two beautiful older domed rooftops.  The seagull obviously agrees with me.

Irish pipes, (uilleann) played nonstop by an expert.

Zapatistas aren't nearly as interesting as I-phones.

Dried up Neptune who seems to blame the guy below.

The Sage at Gateshead; a concert hall designed by Norman Foster.

We've been blessed with sunshine, warmth and good spirits here thus-far.  Cheers.