Newcastle - 24th/25th May 2012

I was never one to subscribe myself to what I thought was an ignorant view that the dialect belong to the inhabitants of Newcastle and the far North-East in general was completely alien to the rest of the population of England and the most of the British Isles. However, on my travels tot he heart of the 'Geordieland', I found more often that not attempting to converse and failing miserably. On most occasion resorting simply to a polite not in agreement, in addition to a friendly chuckle and smile before swiftly on. I'm not sure whether it is the sheer thickness and difficulty to pick up the simplest of words from the mouth of a local, nor whether it is the speed and the seemingly effortless ability to strings a sentence together to form one long word, nor finally whether it is the use or pronounciation of words that seem completely made up and fantastical. I have always been a fan of the 'NooCassell' accent, finding it endearing, amusing and sometimes rather attractive, this was before I had however learned of the social dangers which surrounded said dialect. It was after a rather discouraging example of this difficulty on the first day that I chose to just escape, with a confused frown on my face I departed for the site on which the 'Angel of the North' is situated. A magnificent example of British sculpting, this vast winged beast stands proud over looking the A1 as either an intimidating beacon of the North-Eastern territories or a fascinatingly plain and basic welcoming sight.

However, enough of this nonsense hang up of mine, I found myself staying in a surpringsly pleasant hotel situated in the outskirts of the town (I had, by this stage come to terms with my choices in places to stay being rather basic to say the least), however in closer proximity to the impressive St James' Park, home of the mighty 'Toon Army', Newcastle United Football Club, whom despite being an avid Gooner (fan/supporter of Arsenal Football Club), I've always had a particular fondness for, some would regard it as a soft spot perhaps. As for the city it was again similar in many ways to any other out of London city, however the Architecture differed somewhat from places like Nottingham and Birmingham. The Town centre was steeped in History with impressive 'turn of the century' style grand buildings lining most of the road, however allowing room amongst their clusters for some quirky back alleys and quaint stores. The many bridges crossing the River Tyne, simply cannot be ignored by any tourist and allowed some great views of the bustling landscape of Newcastle contrasting with the rather quiet surroundings of County Durham. Particularly impressive and providing stark contrasts in examples of technological advances in mechanical engineering feats were the Millennium bridge and the Tyne bridge itself.

Many of these previously stated backstreets and intricate alleys worming through the town centre, opened up into small parades of shops and indoor market places which show that the independant retailers still survive and thrive somewhat in Newcastle. In one small Bookstore I even managed to find the 'Hunger Games' for as little as £4, which pleased the inner stingy, money-grabby demon inside, as well as satisfying the geeky, thirst for medieval adventure.



the highlight of the few days spent in the far reaches of Northern England didn't actually occur in Newcastle however, it was on the journey from York to 'Geordieland' on which i chose to take a detour over the North York moors. I chose the villages of Helmsley and Stokesley as my A and B destinations on the North and South borders of the vast wasteland respectively between which runs a 17-mile stretch of the B1257. This quickly became my favourite dive which I have ever completed. Simply stunning. The views were utterly breath-taking as I followed the ever winding road, it was almost a shame that I had to concentrate so much on the road and not take in the raw beauty of the natural landscape which my route ran through, splitting the many valleys and contours of the National Park. Vast expanses of Moorland and dramatically steeps rolling hills surrounded me in extreme contrasts. I felt truly privileged experience this rich English countryside in its purest form, you can really get a feel for and understand the isolated nature that some areas of the North of England has to offer. Personally I find it fascinatingly fantastic to think how alone and with nature these areas are, I already have an irrepressible yearning to further document, visually, what I believe to be a little piece of heaven on these Earthly Public Highways.

York - 22nd/23rd May 2012

It was in the 'City' of York that I was first confident that my choice was well-founded, this was exactly the right thing that I needed. There are limited words which can even start to explain my love for this place. Encircled by a 2-mile long city wall broken at regular intervals this is a real old school 'city', hence the inverted commas. this place has no generic features of modern day bustling metropolises, this place is unique. Cobbled streets are in abundance many of which are lined with archaic buildings with weakening foundations, this was partly ruined by the amount of influence clearly exhibited by high street chains however this is an inevitable part of a 21st Century high street in Britain. Many of these would have of course replaced small, individual retailers, however this took nothing away from the character of the place since it is after all a highly subjective view of mine. 

The highlight of my visit is rather hard to specify however it would  probably be wandering around the Minster (above, beyond one of the city gates), partly because the cool interior of the establishment provided welcome solace from the humid York heat outside. But also because the decor, from the stained glass windows to the vastness of the beautifully hand-crafted ceiling were absolutely awe-inspiring. In fact the exterior walls proved just as perfectly formed, providing me with plenty of time spent simply sitting in admiration of the masterpiece. However, the construction was not out of place by any means, from the city gates, to the bridges straddling the River Ouse, and to the Shambles (left), a famously narrow, avenue of shops in which the aged foundations of the buildings have weakened to such an extent that the buildings themselves lean in such a fashion that a few in the middle came to rest just inches from those situated opposite.


As in Nottingham, Astley House, where I stayed for two nights sat roughly 20 minutes walk from the centre of York. Again it was small and basic however it served the purpose and in some ways I've grown to miss that room, with it's high ceiling, cramped shower and views of the neighbouring church opposite out the window. Although my good memories of my accommodation was partly influenced by the pleasant surprise of returning home one evening to a tiny Jack Russell puppy exploring the lobby area, who upon hearing the door opening, greeted me in the clumsily excitable way that only a puppy can.


Upon exploring the wider area, including traversing the city boundaries by using the city wall, I also came across the last remnants of the original castle of York. Clifford's Tower, is situated atop a steep, and dramatic hill which would have been one day surrounded by a deep body of water. The tower provided spectacular views of the York skyline (below) as well as the surrounding Yorkshire landscape. Although my trip to the battlements on top the castle was short-lived due to a familiar bout of vertigo or something, so I quickly descended the spiral staircase from the castle top again,


All-in-all, York was a place that I immediately fell in love with, a place that I would love to visit again and would be proud to maybe call it 'Home' one day.

Nottingham - 21st May 2012

As I drove through the centre of Nottingham, a familiar greyness clung to the dismal British landscape like a dusty curtain shrouded over the main stage at a rundown theatre. This environment didn't convince me that I'd made a wise decision as I neared my resting place for the evening. An old pub restored into the Clarence Hotel was situated roughly a mile from the city centre, I quickly learned that this was the more diverse and the less affluent part of town; let down tires, large angry dogs on chains and drug deals were occurring with a high frequency. Nevertheless I was made rather welcome by the numerous staff in the dark, dingy and slightly undesirable place of rest. My room was basic definitely, but far from destitute, with the luxury of having a wall mounted TV, that didn't work, and when I say wall-mounted it was merely balanced on an aged and creaking wall bracket. This was in addition to numerous loose lighting fixtures and a poorly assembled tray of tea and coffee brewing equipment, however it was my home for the evening, and to be fair what more could you want for £23.50 which also included a 'continental' Breakfast (two slices of toast, jam and fruit juice) I hasten to add. So, although the aging wallpaper and flaking paintwork were enticing, not to mention the hole which I can only imagine resulted from someone trying to punch their way out of the Bathroom, I decided to quickly seize the opportunity to explore Nottingham.

Carefully attempting to retrace my way back to the city centre, ultimately taking the long way, one thing stood out to me, 'My God, there are so many hills in this town!'. I swear I walked up a hill on the way into town and that evening when I left I had to traverse up another hill to return to my hotel. Upon reaching the main hub of Nottingham, I was greeted with  a rather underwhelmingly familiar skyline of a bustling out-of-London city much like what I expect Manchester, Birmingham and Newcastle to resemble and although I wasn't immediately taken by the cityscape, the impressive, and vast town square that opened up behind a major parade of shops, which preceded the town hall (above) as well as an incredible statue of local hero Brian Clough restored some of my faith. I must add also that the sculptor of said creation captured a great likeness of the lovable Football manager and personality. After an hour or so and a successful trip to Gregg's, I came across the more Historical District of the city and with it, the Sun blasted through the dispersing cloud and blanketed Nottingham in a pure and brilliant Summer glow. This gave me a great opportunity to enjoy the ruins of the castle walls, and the legend of Robin Hood all the more with my Camera. This ultimately led me to the Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn, which is the oldest watering-hole in Britain (apparently), dating back to 1189AD (apparently), also being the favoured place to seek refreshment of the Crusades (apparently).

And so, I sat in the cavernous old tavern sipping on a Pint of 'A Knight's Tale' with my faith and wisdom in my decision making being somewhat restored. The only issue that now faced was trekking all the way back up one of those many low incline but long hills to my temporary lodgings worrying whether my tires had been slashed.