Tempest on Tyneside
‘There’ll be boatloads of them tonight Joe,’
I say as we sup on a pint, looking out over Roker Beach, ‘hundreds of them,
thirsty and gagging to see a match.’
‘I never bother
going, now man, it’s just too hard to get to the stadium because of all the storm
work. I just can’t get there.’ Joe belches, taps his pint glass, signals to the
barman for another. ‘Daft buggers, coming up here for the drink and the footy
every weekend. Who’d do the journey on a night like this an’ all. I said to the
missus this morning, it’s like being back in the glory days but it’s not steel,
ships or coal that’s putting us on the map, now like.’
‘Listen to this
man,’ I read the update from The Echo that’s
pulsing across my data screen, ‘All working men’s clubs are to be reopened to help cope with the influx
of beer drinkers from the south. Why man, we just need a comedian like
The Little Waster and the clubs would be more popular than the footy. H’way,
let’s get down to the pier.’
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| Excuse me there are crumbs in my anthology |
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all proceeds go to Amnesty International.
all proceeds go to Amnesty International.
