2 Cocktails and a Packet of Crisps

I took the beautiful girlfriend out on Saturday night, not with a baseball bat, but for her young birthday (Happy Birthday - I know you read this religiously). We went off early doors to Nancy Bordello's in Newcastle, sounds like a very camp drag queen act, but it is infact a trendy pub place with modern Victorian decor. Popular with students but they’re all on daddy’s yacht at this time of year so we had lots of space for us tax payers.

A couple of cocktails and a packet of munster munch later we started to head off towards The Grainger Rooms. It's a modern british restaurant that gives you the feeling of being in a house, infact a Georgian house, which it was, so that figures. Sampling the food from local producers was superb; battered whiting with pickled cucumber dip, poached chicken with summer veg and local cheeses for me. For the birthday girl, roe deer, pork with braised carrot and fennel and summer fruit crumble. The chef did a pretty good job working on his own as his staff let him down, doing 43 covers. Pretty impressive for the quality of the food, but not one mention of munster munch crisp sandwich on the menu.

A friend is lost

RIP Ian Wills. A real good friend who sadly recently took his own life. He was part of my group of friends from University and we'd kept in touch for many years. We were just out celebrating 40th birthdays only a couple of months ago. It taught us all a lesson. You never really know someone. Your mind can be your enemy yet it's so precious, it can hold thoughts that no-one would ever know. Our thoughts go out to all who knew him.

Keep your kebab to yourself

I wish I was back in Santorni, a little Greek island we just returned from. What a place, unspoilt by the Brits and the family matching football shirts, very cosmopolitan, beautiful scenery and traditional greek food. It was disturbing to see a lady by the pool resembling Bubbles Devere from Little Britain. She wasn't shy, full bikini, probably made out of an old parachute. I nearly choked on my ouzo when I looked up to see her hanging her parachute up to dry, a towel round her waist (or a marquee), which slipped to reveal her backside. Oh my god, I couldn't breathe, it was like looking at 12 naked turkeys huddled tightly together fearing for their lives. There's no way I was going to try a Greek kebab after this incident.

Anyway, Santorini is a place to go back to and check out for a relaxing holiday, well worth hiring a car like we did to discover the island. This way you get to see the beautiful sunset like in this photo from the southern tip of the island in Faros. If you go on holiday, just make sure you don't sit next to 12 turkeys crammed into an aeroplane seat.

Smack the donkey

When I was a lad back when gay meant happy and the Internet was in black and white, birthdays consisted of pass the parcel and freezing your position when the music stopped. Today, that's changed a little, as well as kids getting tons of presents like another Christmas, they also get the chance to wack a papier-mâché animal until it breaks and reveals sweets, toys and whatever else you care to put in there. It's quite funny to see the young un's blind folded trying to hit a donkey with a rolling pin while blind-folded. It's only matter of time before adults incorporate this into their party nights in the same way they insist on trampolining after a few beers breaking their necks or their kids in order to show how high they can jump while holding a can of Stella. So, maybe in the adult version of piñata you could stuff your paper donkey with condoms, stella, greggs pasties, rubik's cubes and those little plastic party hats with elastic string that cuts through your chin. You never see them anymore - where are they?

How many times can you write the word piccalilli?

A bit of food, a bit of wine and a bit of music. What more do you want? For me, that's a good night out, especially when the food is good and it wasn't bad at The Exchange Bistro. A ham and parsley terrine with piccalilli was better than it sounds. It was moist (love that word) and a nice sharp taste from the piccalilli. Couldn't resist having a rib-eye steak for mains with mushrooms and home made chips, it's a perfect Friday night tea isn't it? I was further impressed with the beautiful lady opposite me tucking into red snapper with mango salsa followed by lamb. She didn't dribble once. The pudding (to share of course) was poor so I'm not going to even mention it, but the maltesers in it would've been better put back in the box and eaten on their own.
With a pretty full stomach it was off to the Magnesia Bank to see a below average band who murdered a Stevie Wonder song, wish I'd saved some piccalilli to throw at them. The saxophonist was really good though so it slightly made up for it.
So, are you hungry after reading this? I am. I'm off to make piccalilli, can't believe the main ingredient is cauliflower - urrrrgh, bad tasting evil brain looking food.

Twas on the 9th June...

I've tried for a few years to do the famous Geordie 10K Blaydon Race and this year I was successful and managed to run it on Tuesday night just short of the winner, Ian Hudspith from Morpeth Harriers (27m 44s - woooh, must've needed the toilet). A good atmosphere and I was surprised to see there were lots of people supporting it all the way with bands and singers right til the finish. You could say all the lads and lasses there all had smiling faces (apart from those who couldn't cross the road to get to the Boyzone concert, probably for the best). I didn't join in with the famous song of course as I was out of breath and it looks embarrassing when you don't know ALL the words and I didn't have enough energy to COUGH at the point where I didn't know the words. Despite this I finished in 54m 30s and collected a t-shirt, a bottle of brooooon ale, a ham and pease pudding stottie and a congratulations kiss from my special girl: all consumed in that order, the order of importance!

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Get those jockeys off

It's not easy trying to win some money on the horses. I learnt that when I went to Gosforth Races at the weekend. Not one winner though, must be the jockey's fault. There was a weirdo standing next to me with his mates who insisted on telling me I had "sh*t on my shoe". Think he wanted me to cock my leg so he could make fun of my stance, didn't fall for it. My mate won on the last race so we made him pay for the taxi seen as we couldn't go on a horse. That reminds me, a few years ago I had a Xmas party at the racecourse. Like a cheeky drunk geordie I told this girl to meet me outside and we would go and steal a horse. I learnt some time later that she'd stood there most of the night waiting.....funny.