The Sun is in Newcastle

The sun is in Newcastle, shining on young festival goers with fluorescent stripes painted on their faces and legs, waxed paper cups of coca cola in their hands that they are slurping through straws. The jubilee is nowhere to be seen; it's happening on another planet called London, where poor people flock in droves to the River Thames to watch one of the richest women on the planet sail past in a gilded boat through the icy rain. Martin played a gig in a very quirky pub called The Ship in Newton by the Sea, at the top of a block of white-painted cottages just off the beach. The punters were in their cups, waltzing, jiving, twisting and singing along. Next morning, we walked along the breezy beach looking at the big eastern sky and the miles of yellow sand. Dogs bounced in the distance and swifts zipped diagonally across the distance, living their shortt lives at a hectic pace. The Ship is a one-off stortuva place, bringing life to a corner of Northumberland that is increasingly populated by weekenders. But everywhere Martin goes, his loyal listeners turn up to support him. Apparently Bob Harris played a track from California Star the other day as well. The Daintees are descending this evening: tonight's gig is at Beamish and is sure to be a humdinger!