Northumbrian Children

Just returned from two days in the north-east, finishing off the childrens' songwriting project.
I feel as though my head has been emptied and stuffed with grey felt.
Actually, today was great- all four schools congregated at Ovingham Primary School and each took to the stage in turn to share their songs with each other. They were all great- even boistrous Ovingham who had been a huge sea of energy threatening to become a gigantic tidal wave at any moment- they all forgot the words in fright and had to go for it again!
They were great kids though- very different from the Song Club children I work with normally that do not come from such comfortable backgrounds. Big up the teachers, too, who took the ball and ran with it, doing all the cross bossy stuff so we didn't have to sergeant-major and spoil our creative vibe.
I liked being in Newcastle, drinking coffee at the Baltic Gallery, whizzing up in the lift to look at the view, and wandering round the streets and across the eyelid bridge. I can not believe how much it has changed since the 1970s when it was all grimy stone and grey moods, little sinister streets and cheap shops. Some of it's still there, the poverty hidden by chainstores, but the general impression is of a lively and prosperous city, with, wait for it, art. Where was that when I was there? It was a cultural desert except for the Theatre Royal, where we went to see Lenny the Lion in pantomime every year, except for the year Terry Scott was a fairy in a pink tutu that kept slipping down to reveal his luxuriantly hairy chest. I was very little and thought it was an accident, and was scandalised.