That seems to be the precursor for my most recent blog posts, so why change the habit?
This Christmas the decision was made to abandon the Gosport base and decamp to the North as that was where a majority of the family are based. With three dogs, albeit small rats, and four kids, albeit two younger and two adults, the logistics were challenging. Thanks to Dad for volunteering to take the older boys and the pups. My missus, Beth, Eds and I are well installed in an apartment in Newcastle City Centre, and that is where the drama for today's tale lies.
We arrived around 2000 last evening after a breakdown, the bonnet on the Land Rover refused to close after an oil check, and a shoulder implosion (something that occurs frequently following my serious car smash in Belgium a decade ago). After a number of family arguments, when I say family I do of course mean a single member, we offloaded, relaxed and indulged in some local cuisine; Chicken Parmesan and notable kebabs! Then bed and sleep.
The boys were to travel from Gosport this morning so the plan was from me to check on the old man then take the available tram members to Berwick to show them where I grew up.
First off, today was the Sunderland vs Newcastle derby, which I intended to circumvent by an early departure. WRONG! Beth decided that a full beautification and feedback loop was necessary, we managed to leave an hour before kick-off.
As our apartment is a mere 100m from St James' Park and we had no choice but to pass the throng of highly charged, intelligent human-beings on their way to the match, we ended up caught between the Geordies and the Mackems in an escalating riot.
We finally managed to push our way through the dickheads, thanks to the police for encouraging to keep driving directly at the drunken bell-ends.
Our destination, Berwick-Upon-Tweed was visited for too short a time, but many memories returned and I shall when I have time.
A blurry shot of our old house in Mansefield Road
Some bloody bridge!
Eddy on Spittal beach
Me looking out to see the sea, Spittal promenade
Wind blowing in my greying mane
Johnny's in Spittal as it is now
Eds and Beth in Spittal
When the road ran out
The road to Holy Island
All in all a very brief visit and journey through the elements that still mean so much to me. I would so much like to do this again and catch up with any who remember me from the days when there was a wood yard in Tweedmouth and no Nero or Costa in Berwicj high street!