Coming Back

Well, I'm not sure what to make of that conference in Newcastle.
There was a very rude woman, one of the organisers, who was so shockingly bad-mannered that I felt like telling her to get lost and just go home without bothering to do my paper.
It was weird anyway because McDad is not well, and I'd also cleverly left my computer at home and only had a PDF-sized printout, which I had enlarged at a quick-print place so I had a giant set of disorganised lecture notes. But I suppose it went OK.
My friend Debi from Cardiff was there, almost finished her PHD on Kate Bush, and it was nice to see her.
The best thing was seeing the Royal Victoria Infirmary, where I used to work in the x-ray darkrooms as a technician, McDad's old office, and the place where I used to go to a Saturday morning pottery class when I was 8, and made a suubmarine in the shape of a teapot, or a teapot in the shape of a submarine, I can't remember which. It had people peering out of portholes all down the sides. And I liked the smell of the clay. I also remembered having German Measles when I was about 12 and sitting in the car while the family went for lunch at the University restaurant. Why didn't they leave me at home?
The Clock in Newcastle Central Station had no hands. Geordie time, said a friend.
It was a nostalgia fest mixed with an uncomfortable conference.
I am glad the weekend is over.