Here's the Tyne Bridge with the thing I think fondly of as the big silver slug creeping up behind it.
It is actually the Sage music centre. Sometimes modern architecture leaves me cold and I agree with Prince Charles about carbuncles on the face of well loved friends. This is one of those occasions. Sorry Mr Designer. Apologies Mr Architect. Yes, I know it reflects all the changing light at every time of day, yes I know it is fascinatingly new and modern and at, no doubt, the forefront of technology in the building trade. (Not to mention it probably cost umpteen millions....) It is so new that most repairs to the structure have to be done by a new kind of tradesman - he has to have a certificate in abseiling. There was one clinging to ropes and floating about under the ceiling when dh and I walked in for coffee last week. Quite a conversation stopper. "Oh, he's slipped. No, he's alright. Just his rigging thingy jumped a bit..."
Anyway, enough of Newcastle. I am off and flying on the new wip now. Chapter Seven is looming, over 20k words done, and this week I rubbed shoulders with real authors again, as opposed to the merely hopeful, like me. I went to Fenwicks for the launch of Benita Brown's Daughter of Fortune. She sneaked in The Dressmaker as well since she'd just got the new hardback with its beautful cover. What a varied writing career she has had! I thoroughly enjoyed her talk.
Dh and I snuk off to Wallington Hall midday to get a breath of fresh air, and fresh it was indeed. We abandoned our intended walk to the wildlife hide in favour of the most sheltered walks we could find to keep us out of the cold, cold wind which we hadn't expected and for which we had definitely not dressed. We had carefully spaced intervals of hot coffeee in the tearooms, a brisk walk to the walled garden and a brief but warm interlude in the glasshouse, a five minute sit in the basketweave chair out of the wind, then a brisk walk back to the car. I rthink autumn is upon us, folks.