Today, my evening was spent in Whitley Bay. It’s a place associated with both pleasant and less so experiences. I used to take my kids there when they were little. Usually, we’d have chips at the beach. They were cooked in palm oil; ethically questionable nowadays, but better than melted down cows or pigs, as was the norm at the time. And, when a marriage that shouldn’t have been went tits up a few years ago, I found a B&B there to escape the madness.

This evening was spent in the Fat Ox, where a band played. Unfortunately, the band play mostly heavy rock. And I’m not too keen on such things. But, they were actually OK. I wouldn’t commit to more than OK though.

I left earlier than planned, since my second in command was unwell. So my virtual post-it note, with late Metro times, wasn’t of much use.

I should inform the casual reader that my companion this evening usually arrives (when in Newcastle or Gateshead) with a post-it filled with Metro times.

Arriving in Gateshead, with an urgent need to empty my bladder, I ran walked casually to the Tilley Stone. After using the facilities, I realised I’d missed the last bus. And, so, there was no alternative other than an ixat.

Home now.