Sunday, November 11, 2007

Newcastle, je t'aime

I've just come back from a most splendid weekend in the Northeast. Frankly, as soon as I pulled in to Newcastle station on Friday evening I basically shat myself with excitement. I always have lots of fun when I go up North and this weekend was even better as I hung out with a lot of people that I went to uni with. I was especially pleased to see my friend who has just got engaged. She holds a special place in my heart as she came round to my house when we were at uni and she laughed so hard at something she puked out of her nose. Now tell me, who doesn't want to marry a woman like that?

I think my favourite part (and I think all who were present will agree) was the most drawn out and protracted fireworks display in the whole wide world ever. I was having a whale of a time. I love fireworks. The highlight of the whole 'show' was the bush going on fire though. You can't beat a bit of impromptu drama. I think my enjoyment must have been obvious as the Birthday Girl and basically everyone else present cowered behind me. Clearly I'm a human firework shield. The display was followed by an upbeat chat about ghosts and breaking in to the attic in your mate's house to find a wedding dress hung up on the wall with a chair beside it with a wedding ring and an axe on it. I half expected Derek Acorah to come in from the back garden.

I know you'll be shocked to read that I managed to get completely wasted on the Saturday night and I thought that I had behaved in a fairly reserved way and didn't manage to make too much of a holy show of myself. That was until we were dissecting the night over breakfast this morning. Turns out I'm more of a strumpet than I thought I was.....I just can't remember in the morning.

I also went to see The Crack (Shibboleth) last week. I mainly wanted to go as I'd been scoffing at the simplicity of the piece. Cracks in society, crack in the floor, yeah yeah whatever. Racism and imperalism. Yawn. I had even come up with a theory that they said they'd bung her an extra £100k if she came up with a new piece but she forgot all about the commission until about 2 days before the opening and she just got to work with a kanga hammer hoping for the best. I even went so far as to come up with my own piece. It was going to be called, "The Futility of Trying to Fit in". Basically, I'd scribble all over a piece of paper and then draw a very small stick woman in the middle and blu tac it to a pillar in the Turbine Hall. I know. Its fucking inspired. (And if any of you skank the idea I'll kick you in the balls).

I went with one of the most cultured women I know who, it turns out, did History of Art as an A Level and a supplementary subject at uni. I'm sorry to report that it did actually provoke discussion about the ramifications of war and the fall of the British Empire and how these things have shaped the society we live in today. Then we got over ourselves and went and dropped some serious cash in Selfridges. Corporate machines - nice.

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