Rebekah Lucy Loves Newcastle

In aid of celebrating my lovely friend Kirsti's birthday, this past weekend six of us headed up to Newcastle Upon Tyne. Geordie Shore. Toon. Etcetera. On the way up I shared a car with Kirsti, Malcs and Annalies as we'd managed to get a pretty decent deal on a rental. The train's much quicker, natch (as Ed pointed out time and time again) but it's bleedin' expensive sometimes, and let's be honest, who doesn't love heated discussions about the ambient temperature inside the car, sing alongs to Coolio and The Righteous Brothers, Burger King crowns, and eating one's own body weight in Maoam Stripes? I honestly couldn't tell you who doesn't love those things because they're all awesome. Well, except the bit about the temperature but what's a family road trip without an argument and / or tears?

On the road.

Queen of the Boigas.

We made pretty good time and got in around 10pm, picked up some booze had our first encounter with the accent at Tesco, and joined Ed, Amy and Amy's friend Nile at the apartment. When we could eventually find it. I mean, we had no trouble finding the building (I am a good navigator) but the numbering of the car parks and the suites went something along the lines of 1, 2, 3, 79, purple, 212, 213. Mickey Fucking Mouse Operation. When we did finally find our way (77, 78, 73... 74) we got stuck in to some drinking games and close up magic. Standard. We also assigned each other new holiday-specific nicknames. I ended up with Mingeatron, in large part because Malcolm is a dick. We also had ourselves a Peanut Pouch, Handy, Toe Jam Samir (long story), Badgersack, and Come At Me Tits. Oh and a Slippers, who was visiting to catch up with Handy. Each name came with its own unique dance move too - I'm pretty sure Handy got the raw end of the deal there (think about it). But. Mingeatron. Minge. Atron. Thanks Malcs.

Mickey Mouse Operation. 27. 39. Seems logical.

Millenium Bridge. Blue skies.

After an annoyingly average sleep (and I wasn't even the one who had to endure a plastic-wrapped mattress), we woke to beautiful blue skies and wandered across the Millenium Bridge for bargain breakfast served in tiny frying pans at Pitcher & Piano. Then we crammed six bodies in to the Hyundai (gas it up, Ross) like a bunch of adult rebels and drove out to see The Angel of the North at Gateshead.


Six squished in the Hyundai.

Just call me angel. Of the morning. Baby.

According to the interwebs, Antony Gormley (the designer) states the meaning of the angel as three-fold - to signify that coal miners worked for two centuries under the ground at the site of its construction, to represent the transition from an industrial to an information age, and to serve as a focus for our evolving hopes and fears - "The hilltop site is important and has the feeling of being a megalithic mound. When you think of the mining that was done underneath the site, there is a poetic resonance. Men worked beneath the surface in the dark. Now in the light, there is a celebration of this industry. The face will not have individual features. The effect of the piece is in the alertness, the awareness of space and the gesture of the wings - they are not flat, they're about 3.5 degrees forward and give a sense of embrace. The most important thing is that this is a collaborative venture. We are evolving a collective work from the firms of the North East and the best engineers in the world."

Later that day a taxi driver told me the angel welcomes visitors to the North, which I think is a nice sentiment too. I also just think it looks cool which is a good enough reason for anything to exist in my opinion. And it makes for good photos obviously, especially against the awesome blue skies we had on Saturday - Spring ahoy!

After the all-important photo shoot we squeezed back in to the car, dropped it back to Mr Avis, and caught the train across to The Mall To End All Malls, which I think is technically called the Metro Centre but my name for it is much catchier. Red Mall, Yellow Mall, Blue Mall, Green Mall, So Much Mall. Annalies and I spent some time catching up with my lovely friends Claire and Phil over coffee and cake (they live in Middlesbrough which is about a 40 minute drive from Newcastle - and equally as fun what with the accents and the good nights out). They come with 1 x additional bump these days as they're expecting their first baby in June (squeeee!). They're probably the coolest, nicest people I know so it was great to see them for the second time in two weeks.

Phil & Claire are the cutest.

After we said our goodbyes, Annalies and I hit the shops (I think you'll agree it would have been rude not to) and I found my dream dress at Top Shop - so lacy and pretty and cute (and black, which is kind of the theme to my life's wardrobe). I'm learning to embrace my Thunder Thighs here in Ol' Blighty where it's near impossible to find anything longer than bum-scrapey, but this one is pretty short I have to admit. However I loved it at first sight and therefore: MINE.

Here I am demonstrating the dress.

Unfortunately we didn't bump in to the Metrognomes, Herbert, Sherbert, Maggot and Rusty who apparently live and work at the mall. A shame I thought, as I kind of feel like Minegatron might have had some rapport with Maggot on account of WORST. NAMES. EVER.

By the time we got back to the apartment I was exhausted because I am an old, old wooden ship these days. I popped myself to bed with a Red Bull & vodka and some tunes, and before I knew it - back on the proverbial horse. I'm awesome. After trying on all of the clothes, and playing all of the drinking games (circle of death = actual death), and taking all of the selfies, we headed in to the city in search of somewhere to get our groove on.

Circle of death. Literal death.

Birthday Girl. Drinks Bitch.

Me and a couple of blonde babes.

Tart.

Gorgeous girlies.

Kirsti sandwich.

Elevated. Heading out. Please note Ed's crown.

One of Claire's friends had kindly got us on to the guest list at Digital but unfortunately we were a bit useless as a collective and didn't make it there until much too late. I was certain the first joint we hit up was a gay bar (giant sequined shoes suspended from the ceiling anyone?) but I did some asking around (as any good researcher should) and the general consensus was "Well I'm straight..." so maybe I'm losing my gaydar touch in my old age.

Bunch of drunks.

Mingeatron & Badgersack. Cheers.

On account of much vodka and wine down the hatch, things unsurprisingly get a bit hazy at this point. Here are some things I do recall: asking the shots girl if they were real or fake (answer: real), pink sparkly hats and disco glasses, "My friend has tattoos too...", wearing my drink twice or thrice (thanks Ani), much dancing, trying a second less-sequined bar on for size, Peroni, Gold Trouser Crying Girl, attempting to spell Hault's Yard in a Geordie accent - "hayyyyyyyyych ayyyyyyyy yewwwwww ellllllll teeeeee essssss...", teetering around like agonised baby foals, pinching all of the youthful teenage faces, this conversation - Random 18 Year Old: "What do you do here?" Kirsti: "I work in banking." Random 18 Year Old: "You came all the way from New Zealand to work at Burger King?!", and this conversation - Me: "You're so young." Other Random 18 Year Old: "I'm old enough." Me: "I doubt that." Other Random 18 Year Old: "Bend over and I'll show you." Me: o_O, taxi wars, shared bathrooms, cold pizza, pillow town, not waking up to Ani's cries buzzes for help to be let in.

We had pretty early return train tickets to London on Sunday (cheap fares for the win) so we roused ourselves around 9am and started the scrubbing, packing, being-hung-over, sourcing-of-snacks process before embarking on the Train Ride of Doom. Annalies and I did at least manage to score ourselves a whole booth (after moving approximately 57 times) so I was able to lie down and snooze drool on my handbag pillow for a little while. In between shoving yet more candy and or crisps in my face, as one does when one is on hoilday of course.

I always feel like I could do with another day whenever I go away for the weekend - just to wander in the city, enjoy the old buildings, and take photos. But I honestly had a fantastic time with some seriously cool people so I wouldn't change anything. Except maybe I would eat less junk food next time around. *oink*.

Happy Birthday Kirsti. Thank you Newcastle. Good times. X