THE MOTHER OF ALL TABS.

After a light English and a cup of tea I stepped out into the Northumbria’s Indian summer, bales of golden straw lay in the misty field, their presence revealed slowly, a bit at a time, like a stripper seducing her audience. The resident Barn Owl, glided above the silver veil on silent ghostly wings searching for it’s survival.
Even surrounded by this natural beauty my thoughts could not be distracted from the task ahead, the walk, the wall, months of planning and preparation.
I sat in silence staring out of the car window soaking up every detail of this golden moment as we headed for the urban sprawl of Newcastle and my start point.
The rising September Sun bathed Geordy Land in it’s golden glow, reflecting off the roof tops of the rows of terraced houses. Traffic lights stood guard over empty streets, a Man held a limp leash and watched us pass as his dog marked it’s territory  with squirts of steaming waz.
The industrial north slept, enjoying it’s brief release from the mundane, it was as if we were the sole survivors of some apocalyptic dawn.
Signs of life, we passed a milkman’s cart, a cat ran across our path, a Herring gull called as it warmed itself on a cracked chimney pot.
After several lefts and rights we were confronted by SEGEDUNUM, no longer a name or picture in a book, but the Mcoy, the point of no return.
Tune in next time when Bugs Bruton will reveal the ancient art of Stotty troffin whilst under effective enemy fire.
Time for a brew before the Gaffer gets up, take care.