Ah Brother Tobias

Ah Brother Tobias, as a neo-Novo Castrian, you were lucky to observe the peccadilloes of the city as a visitor.
For those of us brought up in the straitjacket of the Ouija-fearing minister of Jesmond Presbyterian Church, Newcastle held few joys.
City Hall- oh dear, a dreadful concert by Yes with a duff PA that reduced all their pomp to a whisper, the fibreglass pod wobbling on its plinth, and horrible stretchalot Rick Wakeman with his four-square keyboards and his smug grin.. those of us who dwelt in the outlying hamlets had to make a mad dash for the last train (10.30) and missed the last half hour of everything. We were too fresh-faced for lots of things anyway and our lives were burdened by the Saturday job at Littlewoods (lunch entitlement for Saturdays one and a half fish fingers and a half portion of chips) where the lady spat on the knife to clean it before slicing the meat and where the loose bread rolls that fell on the scuffy floor were picked up and re-stacked on the pile.
The most exciting thing that happened was me and Kathleen being chased through the streets by two drunk youths who were riding a massive wobbly fake phallus they'd made by unravelling a long cardboard tube.
We were very pleased to see you, Brother Tobias, because you were the most interesting person in our lives at that point!

Actually, one thing about Newcastle at that time was really brilliant- the Hoppings on the Town Moor. The Hoppings was a congregation of all the travelling fairs in the North, and stretched for a quarter of a mile. You could find everything from bearded ladies and candyfloss stalls to daredevil motorbike stunts and the Rotor (which i never dared to go on).
Standing by the dive-bombers, I remember wondering whether everyone who had vomited had eaten diced carrots, or whether diced carrots made you vomit.