I'm just back from a long weekend in Northumberland. Thighs are a bit firmer as I digged Dads bike out of the shed and put some air in the tires and re-acqainted myself with the old pit village. I cycled a few miles to Newbiggin By The Sea which I always remembered as a bit of a dump but which has now been re-born as the perfect Northumbrian seaside vilage. There is an ice-cream parlour there that hasn't changed it's decor in 50 years. Bertorelli's was featured in one of the Sunday colour supplements a few weeks ago as one of the last remaining seaside parlours of it's type (excellent pics of the cafe here). I had one of their home made ice creams as I sat on the sea wall and watched the sand begin to steam in the afternoon heat. Pictures to your right.
On Saturday afternoon I cycled eight miles inland to attend a garden party in the country. Loads of the old scooter gang were there and a wooden dancefloor had been built in the woods. I did two hours as the DJ. Why is the dancefloor always packed for 'Rock The Casbah' and empty for anything post-1984? Old punks are shit:
"Oi! Dave! put some Stranglers on"
So I played House Of Jealous Lovers by The Rapture which sent them off looking for cider. Fucking hippies! A nasty mist came down from the hills about 9pm so I left to cycle home as I didn't have any lights for the bike.