I was in a pub in Tynemouth the other day. Despite not having Olympic standard hearing, I often catch snatches of other people’s conversations, especially as in this particular case the voices were very loud. It was as if the speakers had attended theatre school where they’d been taught to project. There was an atmosphere between this middle aged couple, enjoying their Tuesday afternoon lagers and the opportunity to display their Newcastle United tattoos to those of us who, like me, had popped in for a refreshing cold drink after having walked all the way from Whitley Bay. I was looking for a seat when the woman pointed at her companion and, seeming to answer his question that I hadn’t managed to catch, shouted “…BECAUSE I DIVVENT WANT YE SNOGGING NEE-ONE ELSE, ALREET?!”
He looked very sheepish, as I moved away to take cover in a quieter part of the pub.
What was I doing in Tynemouth, you wonder? Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this. Well, as regular readers of this nonsense will know that I was a bit miffed recently because my car is off the road for a while and I have to use public transport. I had decided to try out my bus pass and test it to the full by going to the seaside, a trip of about 25 miles.
I had forgotten about the – um, let’s say characters you can encounter in pubs and on buses. And there were a few on this trip. I met one or two of them on the 684 as the big double decker crashed into the overhanging tree branches between Ovingham and Newcastle. The trees must have been jiggled about by the recent storm because the branches kept smacking the upstairs front windows, making me flinch in my seat three rows back from the front. But there was an older fella wearing a flat cap and a stern expression who didn’t seem to react at all. His expression also didn’t change when he was joined by a friend who seemed keen to make him smile by engaging him in conversation.
We reached Heddon on the Wall, where a cloud of perfume got on, followed closely by a woman of a certain age who ought to know better. She and her companion sat behind me all the way to Newcastle, enabling me to enjoy the scent during the rest of this part of the journey. When she got off, she left part of the cloud behind, giving the bus a fragrant air which I expect it’s not used to.
The world looks different from the top of a double decker, which I always think of as a “proper” bus, unlike the ten-a-penny single decker. Now I had the time to watch the world go by, and I could read the names of shops, such as Ali’s Barber at Throckley. There is one at Lemington Road Ends called “Fringe,” which offers “Bespoke Hairdressing,” as if there is any other kind. What next? “Haircuts While You Wait?”
It’s holiday season, and some of my friends have travelled to exotic places such as Greece, Italy and even Cuba. But for me, a quick change at Haymarket saw me sitting on the 309 to Blyth. My companions here were three lads sitting behind me, who I assumed must’ve been from Azerbaijan or Korea or somewhere as I couldn’t make out a word they were saying but it turned out they were local lads on their way to work in a call centre at Cobalt Business Park. Good luck to any non-Geordies giving them a ring this afternoon.
Whitley Bay has changed fair bit since I lived there, over twenty years ago. Where there were Building Societies and Stationery shops, there are now betting shops and nail bars. Yes, I’ve been back several times in the intervening years but on this occasion I had time to stand and stare at it. But to be able to stare properly, I needed food first and that’s why I found myself in a little cafe just off the main street. And when I say little, I mean little. It had seating for about 10 people who, if they didn’t all know each other before they went in, would’ve become closely acquainted by the time they’d spent five minutes in each other’s company at the tightly packed tables. The cafe doesn’t accept cash, and a man in a camouflage jacket pointed his sausage at an ATM just over the road, suggesting that I could get cash there. When I got back to the cafe, he told me that he thought it was impressive that I could use an ATM.
I didn’t enjoy being patronised, so I took a seat as far away from him as I could and plonked myself outside just as the sun went in and the seagulls came out. I could sense them eyeing up my bacon sandwich so removed the temptation for them to swoop in on me by wolfing it down and legging it to Tynemouth, pronto.
The sun was back out by the time I got to the seafront. I love the smell of the sea, and the sound of the waves. There were lots of people strolling along, and it seemed I was the only one wearing a coat. I could sense some of them playing “Spot The Southerner.”
Just as I got to Cullercoats, I noticed a pod of Dolphins about half a mile out to sea. They were leaping out and crashing back into the water, causing a series of white splashes. I was quite enthralled by the sight and didn’t notice at first the crowd of people on the promontory who had gathered to watch them.
“Can you see them?” asked a man as I passed him. I said yes, they were very impressive, assuming he meant the dolphins and not the seagulls or anything else less exciting. He then started to launch into a description of dolphins and their habitat, while I tried to sidle away without offending him. I managed it eventually, but as he spent most of his time looking out to sea while he was talking, he may not have noticed that I’d actually gone. He might still be there now for all I know.
I got to Tynemouth with every intention of catching the ferry over to South Shields and a bus home from there, but the Salutation Inn on Front Street caught my attention and pulled me in for a glass of something cold. Suitably refreshed, I walked over to the Tynemouth Priory Theatre, where I once regularly trod the boards, and I’m pleased to say it looks spruced up and healthy.
I was really back in the swing of using buses now, and I was home in no time. The last part of the trip was marred a little by a mother and her son who spent the whole journey boisterously and noisily play fighting, throwing things out of the window, and swearing at each other. But they didn’t manage to put me off using the buses again. After all, it takes all sorts…and most of them go by bus.
Steve's Journal 