A Rainy Day in South Shields

If ever there was a headline to excite your readers and draw them in, I suspect this isn’t it. But don’t be put off by the title, which although literal, doesn’t reflect the enjoyment of a day out at the seaside. Pick up your virtual umbrella and please read on.

I recently found myself spending the day in this traditional seaside town for the second time in six months or so. I was there in September for the Great North Run, but what with metro problems and crowds on that particular day I didn’t get to spend very long there. This time though I was going with my friend Wynne. It was originally only going to be for two or three hours but for various reasons it turned out to be longer than that. However, I came away thinking what a lovely time we’d had.

I have never seen Wynne downbeat in the ten years that we’ve known each other. She has a positive outlook on life, and always has a smile on her face. She had only recently passed her test and hasn’t yet developed the attack mode of motoring that’s required on some of the region’s busier roads, and she was a little nervous about driving to a town she didn’t know. So when she asked me to drive her car to South Shields to have some technical alterations made so that it could accommodate her Mum’s wheelchair, I was happy to help.

She had booked the car in at Vic Youngs Services for a conversion. We both had the same thought, picturing not Vic Young, but Vic Reeves at some kind of religious ceremony to show us all The Way of The Lord, but disappointingly we weren’t greeted by Britain’s Top Light Entertainer at all. Instead it was a mechanic called Dave* who did the work, without a bible in sight. I was immediately impressed by the fact that he was still only half way through his Easter Eggs, a week after the event. 

We wandered off into South Shields while “Dave” set to his task. Wynne was very keen to go on a fairground ride, whereas I wasn’t. I’ve got this back, see. We strolled down the main street towards the parks and the seafront, and stepped over the dunes to where the North Sea is laid out in front of you like one of Nature’s Art Exhibits. It’s a glorious beach, and on a sunny summer’s day it would be a perfect place to spend a day.

We walked along the beach for a mile or so, observing all the human and canine activity along the way. Over there, a child was running amok. Over here, a man was digging a hole. He was wearing headphones and carried what looked like a metal detector. And by the bench near the coffee stall, two young boys were trying to bury each other in the sand while their shivering parents looked on from a safe distance. If either of the boys had succeeded in their task, they would have had to call on the services of the metal detectorist to recover them so it was a good job he was there.

After a coffee at the aforementioned stall, Wynne’s desire to have a go on one of the rides got the better of her. She had been full of enthusiasm about this visit, preparing to be thrown around up in the air in the name of fun.

(Fun, by the way, was available in the form of a card which costs £10. It enables you to access the rides. This wasn’t refundable, so if the rides were unattractive or it was raining too hard, you could kiss goodbye to the unused credit on it. Wynne being the person she is donated her card – with £8 worth of fun still on it – to a family with a couple of children).

As we got closer to the rides, they seemed to get taller. Or maybe we just started getting smaller. Either way, Wynne’s determination visibly wilted as some of the rides started to tower over us, to the point where her enthusiasm almost matched mine.

Almost, but not quite. In the end she opted for something called “The Twister,” chiefly because it remained at ground level. If it could have rained at any less fortunate time, I would like to have seen it. But as soon as she was strapped in to the little seat, the heavens opened – guaranteeing her a soaking that was all the worse for her being propelled through the teeming downpour at speed. There was only one thing for it when she got off. And that thing was chips.

We sat in a nearby cafe, amid clouds of steam which may just as easily have been coming from Wynne as they were from my cup of tea. We had expected “Dave” to ring by this time to tell us that the car was ready, but Wynne’s phone remained silent. The rain continued to fall in torrents, and as we could no longer justify sitting at the table it was time to head for the arcade.

I’ve seen Tipping Point with Ben Shepherd. People can win up to £20,000 in that game. There’s a similar machine at the arcade, but you put 2p pieces into the machine rather than counters. Despite watching that programme fairly regularly, I won nothing. But I had a lovely day, thank you Ben, (which is what every contestant says when they lose).

And so back to see how Vic was getting on. His estimate of how long it would take to complete the job proved to be a little over optimistic. But to his credit, the fittings for the wheelchair looked to this admittedly untrained eye to have been carried out with a high degree of professionalism. The fitter spent some time talking Wynne through the process of securing the chair, making sure she understood it all.

We waved our goodbyes as I settled into the drivers seat for the journey home, only to be startled by a mysterious beeping noise that hadn’t been there before and was refusing all efforts to make it stop. There were no lights on the dashboard either, to indicate whether it was the rear gun turret or the tailplane that was causing it.

Vic to the rescue again. He looked it over, found the cause of the noise and stopped it. If he ever stands for Parliament, he’ll get my vote. 

I drove back home, and said goodbye to Wynne. It won’t be long now before she can take her Mum to the seaside, and I’m sure she can’t wait.

All day long, Wynne had made noises about getting me something for helping, but I wanted nothing. I’d had good day out and we’d had a laugh. 

And anyway, she’d paid the bill in the café, and I’ll do anything for a bag of chips.

*Probably Dave. Every car service business has one. But for all I know, it could’ve been Vic himself.