First morning, we asked a bloke walking with a bike the way. "Follow me". So we did, what a nice man. Tynemouth mobbed when we eventually made it. Festival of street performers and craft stalls. Great.
Craft beer on the station. Pete asked if they had lager. He's a bit deaf, so the reply came, "Yes, rubbish". "I'll have a pint of rubbish then". "No, Spanish" the barlady corrected.
We investigated the local bus service - a complete mystery. We nearly caught the 306 three times.
Whitley Bay was very quiet. A Scottish bloke sat at the bus stop gave us a tutorial, but still a mystery. A couple of hours later, after a pointless walk around Whitley Bay, he was still sat there. We managed to catch one of his suggestions - the trip went through a massive housing estate where every road looked like every other.
Tynemouth station is massive. Presumably built for holiday makers around the 1880s. Now on the Metro. Most weeks craft stalls selling a lot of stuff - even old bottles. A stage hosted choirs and dance troupes. Lovely for the kids to sing whilst signing.
So to Newcastle. Pete lost his ticket and was awarded a 'yellow card' by the inspector at St. James. I lost my Greggs corned beef pasty. Found a small quiet bar on a side street. Contrast with the crowds just outside the stadium. Anyway we won. I draped my fleece over my arms for sun protection. During the second half I felt someone tugging with one of the arms. Turned to see a mature lady trying to cover a bare patch. I haven't lost it. The husband didn't look pleased.