1 post tagged “exhibit”

It has been a funny old week. I've been on holiday. Before you fall over in shock, this was not anywhere particularly far flung. I only made it as far as Newcastle Upon Tyne. But as regular readers of this blog will know, my journeys beyond the confines of Greater Manchester are few and far between.

(An aside - As the dark nights and cold weather draw in, I caught myself thinking only the other day about the delights of hibernation. If only I could go to bed and wake up in the spring, like a small mammal. Mind you, I've enjoyed the autumn this year, the trees have been particularly spectacular and as I recently read over on Elliot Jack's blog on MySpace, there's nothing so rewarding than kicking through fallen leaves in converse trainers. Here here.)

So with a few weeks annual leave from that pesky day job, I felt rather obliged to spend at least a proportion of it out of town, and what better occasion than to go to my old friend Lucas' 30^th birthday party. As I think I mentioned last time, Lucas is a professional musician with a certain band who shall remain nameless at this point (although the title of this entry might give it away somewhat). Better known to me as a fellow A-level music student from the mid-nineties, old friend and all round good guy.

Now I don't know how you feel about attending parties, but for me it goes in one of two ways. I either get extremely giddy and overexcited, drink too much and dance around like a man possessed, and then become an outrageous sex pest, or I'm overcome with apprehension and fear, especially if I feel I may not know too many people and that, god forbid, I might have to talk to strangers. It can go either way. It's all a matter of mood and circumstance.

Already feeling slightly out of sorts due to having to leave the safety of Mancunia, I arrived in Newcastle and found myself booking into a hotel that looked, on first site, to be situated above a tequila bar in full flow. I'm sure it didn't say anything about that when I booked the room online. Here's me hoping for a quiet night! I struggled in off the street, having just enjoyed the delights of the coach that stopped 6 times before arriving in Newcastle, at about half ten on Friday night. Well, my friends, the party was in full swing and as I walked in I had to question if indeed this was a hotel! After some confusion, I was escorted upstairs to a little room on no particular note apart from the lack of double-glazing and the lordly delights of Santana drifting up from the bar below. I faced a choice of a not-so-quiet drink downstairs before bed, or a bit of TV and semi-early night with possible music induced latino dreams. Wisely, I chose the latter.

The next morning I was up and about at 8.30am. This is early for me on a Saturday. But it was either that, or heaven forbid, miss breakfast. Why oh why to hotels have breakfast so early in the day? I've never understood it. No chance of a lie in even on holiday then. But you should never miss it. Oh God, the delights of a hotel breakfast. I always have a full english.

The official gathering of party goers was not until 2pm, where the plan was to visit the Baltic Art Gallery on the Quayside, but as I was up and about I opted to get my ass down there a bit earlier and pootle round the city by myself. I did do a quick tour of the Baltic, which I found to be distracting rather than engaging. It's one of those modern art galleries that aim to shock and befuddle, but don't quite make it. One exhibit involved hundreds of old fridges covered in glitter-ball mirrors in a big dark room. I'm not entirely sure what that was all about. As a spectacle it was a little underwheming. As a concept, it didn't seem to make a point about anything. I think the addition of some spinning lights would have made the whole thing rather more psychedelic. I'll suggest that to the artist if I ever meet them, or indeed, remember who they are.

Nothing in the gallery matched the view of the Tyne from the forth floor, which was wonderful, and a work of art in itself. I really must invest in a digital camera - then we can have an illustrated blog. There's a thought.

Anyway, I decided it would be a good idea to start drinking early (as I often do on a Saturday) so I had a lunchtime pint at the Pitcher and Piano, and would you believe it, I was able to sit outside in glorious sunshine and heat in the middle of November in Newcastle. If that isn't evidence of global warming I don't know what is. The pint set me up for the afternoon…. so like most lunchtime drinkers I went back to the hotel for 40 winks, and that was it! Lovely. Hibernation in action.

The evening proper began at about 8pm when I met up with Lucas and his friends. It was an odd collection of people from his home town in Yorkshire, Maximo Parkers, old university chums, and the odd random, such as myself. I suppose I was representing the school years. 30 is definitely old enough to have a proper retrospective party (although I've been having them weekly since I discovered vodka) and its rather heartening to know that in this day and age it is quite possible to keep in touch with people that you may not have seen for some years, but be able to pick up exactly where you left off. That's something boys are good at. It's something that Lucas and I seem to have no trouble with at all. This went along way towards tipping the balance from nervous introspection to outgoing silliness. I was proper enjoying myself.

We arrived at the Star and Shadow  a few hours later, which was hosting the main event, and a few fireworks were let off to celebrate Bonfire Night, which, incidentally, passed me by completely this year. The Star and Shadow is a cinema run not for profit by local filmmakers and aficionados. Big respect to what was an excellent venue with a lovely cheap bar and little nooks and crannies where one could explore in a drunken haze. Tom, MP's drummer, and then some other DJ's who I didn't know, supplied music and yes, I did have a wild dance. Not as wild as MP's manager, Stephano, who didn't stop dancing and didn't take his coat off all night. Boy, he must have been hot.

The party went on and it wouldn't be right for me to name and shame in such a public environ such as this blog, although I admit that doesn't stop me normally, but rest assured a good time was had by all. The party continued back at Lucas' house, which looks rather like it could do with a lick of paint but is entirely fitting for one who spends most of his life on a bus on tour, well into the next day. By this time it was knocking on eight in the morning and some lightweights were drifting off home. The arrival of the "beer taxi" prompted another round of Stella-drinking excitement, and the serious record listening began.

A couple of hours later I found myself on the moors. The moors seem to be a wild place in the heart of Newcastle. And they are really big. The sky is a massive vista that sweeps around you and carried you away. There's few trees, no buildings and no traffic noise. I'm a little hazy as to its exact location, but I was assured that if I walked for twenty minutes in a straight line across the moors I would eventually reach my hotel. Nothing like a short walk to clear the head after a big do. 

 

It took me nearly and hour. Maybe I took an unexplained detour. Luckily, I was entertained on the journey by a new friend and a great many joggers, who all seemed to be Canadian, and all of who were delighted to offer me some directions.

 

My return to hotel prompted hangover hell that lasted an eternity. I missed the coach home, so got a taxi back to Lucas' house. Providence provided a vehicle and driver, although how she managed to drive without near fatal injury amazes me. Not that there was anything wrong with her driving, its just we were both extremely hungover. I was very thankful. I left Lucas going to bed for the first time since Friday at about 2pm on Sunday afternoon, commenting that he was delighted he could still party as hard as he did when he was 21. It really has taken me until Wednesday to fully recover my wits. And that explains why this blog is a week late. But hey ho, no work this week and plenty of sleeping to be enjoyed to make up for the lack of on Saturday night, Sunday morning. And only 10 years to go until the next one.

Until next time, then.

Ben