Resting in the Ground at St. John's
The beautiful brunette made her way back from the glass and granite bar with a Pole Dancer cocktail in each of her hands and a twinkle in her big brown eyes. It was a quiet Tuesday night, and the piano music added to the ambiance as we worked our way through the leather-covered drinks menu. We knocked back a couple more fruit-filled iced glasses at last orders, and retired upstairs to a spacious suite complete with chandelier and sunken bath in the West Wing of the County Hotel in Newcastle, directly opposite the Central Station. I pulled the net curtains to one side and looked up the street illuminated by sodium lights, watching a few stragglers laughing, singing and wobbling up past the worn and weathered yellow sandstone of the church of St. John the Baptist rising in the dark sky opposite. We were celebrating the completion of my book ‘ Dick the Devil’s Bairns ’ with a rare night away to watch a Glaswegian comedian. Bairns didn’t have much humour in it, being a hefty hist...