Newcastle is famous for nightclubs throughout the world. It pioneered the 'Big Night Oot' many years ago and the streets are heaving with party goers going from club to club, bar to bar and pub to pub. The dress code is the same regardless of the weather. The colder the conditions, the shorter the t-shirt and the skimpier the skirt or dress.
The North East has always had a passion for dressing up. They grab any chance. Halloween is a great excuse. Throughout the day every shop assistant was either a witch, demon, hairy tomato or something out of the Rocky Horror Show. Tonight was even better. I walked along the pavement on St James's Boulevard behind an international couple, holding hands. He was an Arab Sheik. She was a Geisha Girl. The man struggling to keep his headdress on in the high wind and his plump partner stepping precariously in an attempt to stop her bulging deep red kimono from ripping.
On the way to the Kebab Shop, I passed three different classes from St. Trinians, two sets of Super Mario Brothers, a hairy male Pamela Anderson in orange Batwatch leotard and blonde wig, a banana, a chicken, both male and female naughty nurses and too many weird Halloween outfits to mention.
The town was heaving. The roads were filled with speeding taxis, desperate not to waste any time. Time is money on a Friday night. The Police and Ambulances came through on a regular basis, sirens blaring. A fight broke out with a group of men coming out of a faux Russian vodka bar. More sirens. More people running from all directions.
It was time for me to retire to my bus. I put the sleeping bag onto the back seat and dozed off to the sound of more sirens.
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