Turkey before Xmas? That's not right.

Visiting Turkey some years ago with friends was a right laugh (you know who you are) but the place was poor and I thought I'd never go back. However, a celebration, a 40th birthday took us there the other week to Icmeler and it was great. There were 36 of us! We took up a third of the plane and had our own coach to and from the airport. For the first time we were lucky to have a great view from our large balcony.

The all-inclusive resort allowed us to sample beer, spirits and food all day. Think we got our money's worth. I nicknamed the restaurant the 'canteen of death' as you could literally eat yourself to death. Some larger individuals were giving it a right good go, I caught one singing while in the queue for the free nosh, like a kid in a sweetie shop I reckon.

The birthday night saw us all wear 'Dawny is 40' t-shirts to the surprise of the birthday girl (see photo) who'd spent £200 on a new dress to wear. She had to pull a t-shirt over it to join in. The Germans around us were pretty confused, I can't remember seeing any of them smile though apart from when they claimed their sunbeds. That's my brother in this photo too, not a German although he did used to speak German in his sleep when he was younger.

Now I just had to take a photo of this satellite dish I passed. I'm guessing they show gay porn or something on this channel. Uncanny that on the holiday to Turkey a number of years ago a man selling his wares on the beach would shout 'Arrrrrrsmeat'. There must be a link.

No Misses but a Missus

It was so good to see that the stag from the Ibiza stag 'do' turned up for his own wedding the other weekend along at Longhirst Hall. What a great venue Liz and Alex chose for their wedding day and what a brilliant day it ended up being. Daft sweets on every table, a ninja photographer, a nervous usher, garter flashes. Loved the Lemonheads playing 'Mrs Robinson' now that Liz is an official Robinson, the song was in my head all day anyway so it topped it off as the whole wedding party surrounded them on the dance floor. Before that they snogged the face off each other while we all stuck our 2 fingers up ;)

They'll just be back from a fancy honeymoon Australia-New Zealand-Fiji. Bet they're tanned, tired and skint but have lived the dream. Congratulations, keep the marriage real.

Run Fat Boys Run...

Ah, the smell of Ralgex. The costumes that pass you. The oggy chant. The 10 mile ache. The man on top of the bus stop with his hose. The outrageous rock band playing on a roundabout. The hoards and hoards of supporting people. The strange, compelling and captivating desire. That's the desire to complete the Great North Run 2010. It's pretty tough for an old man like me whose legs now feel like Michelle Mcmanus has sat on each one and lifted her own chubby legs off the ground. You can't help not enjoy it though despite the anguished pain (the run that is not the rolly-polly-on-top-of-legs-lady). I managed a leisurely time of 2:20 this year in the 30th run. Myself and my brother Lee raised money for Cancer Research, his time was 1:59, he was always the better runner, I got the looks though. So far we've raised £558.

Along the way I shook hands with our local lad, Ant from 'Ant & Dec', passed a man carrying a fridge on his back, a man running in cowboy boots, a fireman with an oxygen tank, a Flintstones car, running bananas and many other crazy runners. Oh and a few fellas running in Speedos. Why can't it be women doing this? That way I might've knocked 10 minutes off my time.

We were lucky to have VIP passes so we got to mix with the 'stars' afterwards. David James, Ray Stubbs, Scott Mills, Molly and Graham from Corras and more. They all insisted on talking to me of course but I had no time for them as I had a pint and a homemade cottage pie to get down my neck. It was great to see the girlfriend at the end of the race too. She came running over to me, bless her. That was her run...(2011). X

If you live in the North East, you need to run this race. It's not really about the race, it's just a one-off, emotional and uplifting experience. Your legs will finally recover but your memory of the run and all its surroundings will last forever...

The lost stag

Stag and hen parties are much more varied now. Sometimes even the stag doesn't turn up. This happened on the one I've just been to in Ibiza. He turned up for the flight but not the main night out. That's because we broke him the previous night. They call him Boy Wonder, but the only thing to wonder about is if he's a man or not? Poor Alex, the pace was too much for those little legs. Hey, we all had a great time though, a good laugh, some sun, drinks, shots, sunbeds, wonder women bikinis, hand puppets, pole dancers, Norman Wisdom falling into bins, weird dancing, promotion girls and crap toasties. There was even a fella who genuinely looked like a cross between Bruce Forsthye and Alf Garnet. I couldn't get a photo of him though as I reckon he would've decked me with his trademark pose.

It was also entertaining to see that the Spanish like to name their shops after some of the British tourists in Ibiza though (see left). Andy B reckons they just sell sh*t, that's him having one on a sun lounger in my black vest.

Putting the pasty amonst the pigeon

I’ve blogged the Greggs institution before and suggested it’s becoming the staple diet of the North East but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s about to become international as I noticed that there’s an outlet directly opposite Newcastle Central Station where so many of our international visitors must arrive. But imagine their surprise and bewilderment to be greeted by a pigeon pasty. This store has bullet proof type glass in it too, just for making those visitors feel extra safe in the early hours. So what next for Greggs?

• The 18-30 Greggs holiday?
• Greggs airlines with the famous logo on the tail?
• Greggs Airline food?
• Greggs branded flip flops?
• Greggs drop-in medical centre?
• Greggs PHD’s?
• Greggs phones with a free HOTline?
• Greggs haircuts (in the style of a lattice pasty)
• Greggs crèches (for obsessed obese kids)
• THE PIGEON PASTY

When I'm cleaning burgers

We get some pretty good days when the sun is out in Tynemouth, you don't need to be abroad. We were lucky to be at the rowing club Ukulele BBQ on the beach. Sounds weird, and it was a bit odd. 10 players playing the mini instruments which look like guitars that have been in a hot wash. Being played in sync gave a few funny looks from passers by. We tried to request a Lady Ga Ga hit but they weren't having any of it. Being a competent musician myself (cough) I got to play one too, and found it quite easy as it's similar to the last 4 strings on a guitar. I did feel a bit like an elephant playing with a cherry on a cocktail stick though. We had a performance from local girl Anna Leigh who did well to sing in the hot sunshine and the smoke from the BBQ.

I also got the chance to parade my award winning Sundried Tomato and Pine Nut burgers. People flocked from all over to taste them, even the seagulls. The same seagulls that decided to swoop down nearby for a piece of chicken and in the process dropped a few shit parcels in our pints, and on my shirt. It brings a new meaning to the phrase 'shit shirt'.

Dracula just went round giving hickey's

When I was really young back in the days of no internet and when a gay man was just a man with a smile, I remember the old fashioned holiday. The British seaside resort. So I decided to treat the gorgeous lady in my life to a weekend of one for her birthday near Scarborough, at Scalby. We stayed at the Wrea Country House Hotel, a beautiful building with great views of the country side. A long walk on the Cinder Path to the seaside meant we could have a jug of Pimms overlooking the sea, where the rows of coloured beach huts were packed with people enjoying the seagull shit.

Another gem of a place is Robin Hoods Bay, a pretty little hilly fishing town, with a maze of tiny streets and cute old houses. We found a great place for a future stay overlooking the bay.

We couldn't resist a visit to Whitby too. We would've walked from Scarborough to Whitby on the Cinder Path, an old railway line, but I think 23 miles without stopping at a pub is not right. So in the car parked near the Abby we walked in and around with all the other thousands of grannies and fish and chip munchers. We too had to have fish and chips, it just has to be done. We also made sure we took a look at the real whale bones structure, it's jaw dropping. I'm still not sure Dracula really visited Whitby but the Abby must look pretty spooky at night and I wouldn't like to be kissed on the neck there.

So follow in our footsteps, I recommend these places. Pack a picnic, Pimms, a vest, a knotted hankie and inflatable stripey deck chair.