Friday 2nd October 2015

Thursday.

And like every morning for the last week, the first day of the new month dawned with clear blue skies and an orange line on the horizon, hinting at the glory of sunrise to come. I am up and about nice and early, ready for another trip away with work, but one that this time did involve an airport.

Now, my train was due to leave at nine, and Jools was to leave for work at seven, so other than book another taxi, how was I to pass an hour and a half before departure time? With a camera and a good eye, easy!

As we drive down Jubilee Way, the sun was just rising above the horizon, and the light was just getting better. Jools dropped me off on the promenade, we said goodbye and she headed off for her work, and I did mine, with the camera. If only I could find a way that this paid me in beer and stuff. And Jools too of course. And the cats.

I walked along, snapping the old Yacht Club bathed in golden light. In the harbour the mad swimmers were already dipping their toes, and on the roads around, another working day was beginning. I walk to Newbridge, down the underpass, and then taking a diversion to snap the ongoing demolition of Burlington House, which is now reaching the chipping bits off stage. It is covered in scaffolding, and a JCB is on the roof.

I look for a place for breakfast, but all greasy spoons seem to be closed. So, the only option, other than going into the Weatherspoons with the hardened drinkers to take up their three quid breakfast offer, I take the other choice and go to Costa. I have a toasted thing, and a coffee which is not bad, I suppose, but then its no bacon and eggs is it? No indeed.

I walk to the station, pick up my tickets from the vending machine, and wait on the platform for the train. Which to my surprise is already waiting, so I get on board and begin to read some more of my book. Despite not getting into London until six minutes before ten, this counts as a 'peak' service, as arriving in London before ten makes it such, which seems crazy to me. But the result is that the train is more than half empty, and I have the choice of seats, which I selct one of my favourites and get ready to mentally check off the sights I enjoy all the way to London.

And the joy for me is that I am travelling all the way into London, as I have to catch my next train from King's Cross, which is just a short walk away. Anyway, soon enough we are emerging from the tunnel at St Pancras, seeing both King's Cross and St Pancras before winding our way over the canal into the station. I have over half an hour, so let the other passengers to get off first, before I gather my things and make my way to the escalators, then over to King's Cross.

I wait around, looking at the new Harry Potter shop ad the queues of people waiting to be photographed beside half a baggage trolley, as you do. I have snapped it before, but not me standing waiting to go onto Platform 9 and three quarters.

The train is called, so there is a rush to the train, even though most of us have reserved seats, something basic about wanting to get the best seats. My reservation is good and it is waiting for me, facing forward with a fine view out of the window. We pull out on time, soon vanishing into the blackness of Gasworks Tunnel, and out again, and into another, and so on until we emerge at Arsenal's new stadium near Finsbury Park, gathering speed, we rush through nameless commuter stations, gathering speed until they are just a blur. Out into the countryside, bathed in warm winter sunshine. There really is no better way to spend a working day than to watch the splendour of the English countryside, all ready for autumn, harvested and ploughed.

We stop at Peterborough and again at Newark. Newark is where my adventure in the RAF began some years ago. People get on, people get off. We move on. At some point we are in the 'north'. Probably before we reach Doncaster, which being in Yorkshire feels north anyway. We push north, into low cloud, mist and drizzle to York. I look out for the locos in the railway museum as we leave, and are back out in countryside soon enough. Darlington and Durham come and go, and just before two we chug over the Tyne and into Newcastle Central.

As we were here just a few months ago, I knew where I wanted to go, and that was to a pub that used to be advertised in Viz; The Trent House, near St Jame's Park. A brisk walk up to the Monument, cutting through the Grainger Market, and when I come out I find a barbers with no queue, so go in for a trim, thus saving me something at the weekend. I love the Geordie burr, and are so love the two ladies as they cut mine and my neighbour's hair. And I feel a stone lighter and several degrees cooler very quickly.

Now, I am hungry and thirsty: to the pub!

I had looked to where it was, and with only a minor diversion, I find it, open and with a selection of real ales. So, I order a pint of the local and a packet of crisps take a pew and watch the rugby on the telly. There is a game in Newcastle at the weekend, South Africa, and as it turns out they are staying at the same hotel I am booked in, but I did not know that at the time.

It is four, and I have some mails to write, so I take a slow walk down Grainger Street, past the Castle and down the steep road to the Quayside. Over the low level bridge and up the hill the other side to the Hilton! I have come up in the world, or a way up the hill anyway. I have a room with river views, which are as wonderful as it sounds.

I set my computer up and finally get the wifi working, and so I can answer the urgent mails. That done, I sit on the chair beside the huge window to watch the end of the Wales game on TV, whilst outside the sun set and the sky turned pink. I was due to meet some people for dinner, but as I had not heard from them, I decided to go out to snap some scenes from the quayside, which turned out to be one of my better decisions.

I walk back down the hill and over the low level bridge, and then walk eastwards towards the blinking bridge. The sun had set, but the sky was on fire with bright oranges and pinks, perfectly reflected in the river and silhouetted by the bridges. It is breathtaking. I do pass other photographers, laden with professional lenses and tripods, but I am happy with the shots I am getting from my little 6D.

I am in danger of being run down by bands of joggers and more serious runners, it feels dangerous at times. However, I make my way down to the Millennium Bridge, which is perfectly reflected in the water, with the Baltic brightly lit behind.

There was just time to walk back under the Sage centre, back to the hotel in time to meet up with the customer, so finally I was able to think about something for dinner. We walk back over the river, and built into the side of a car park is a swish restaurant, we have a table booked, and thankfully, service is quick so I have a cheese and spinach souffle, which is very nice, followed by very good steak.

It is now half ten, I am pooped as usual, and thankfully are the others. We walk back past crowded and rowdy bars, young folks staggering about. But I am spent.

Back in my room, I sit and look at the High Level Bridge a few dozen metres away, all lit up. This is the life.