My husband, Tony, is British. He is the Brit in “Me, a Brit, a Pit and a Nitwit.” Like, British from England, British. Not just an American who had great, great, great, grandparents who were half British once removed, British. He was born in England, raised for the most part there (by wolves) and left England to marry me. Yep. I tricked him.
We, from time to time travel to England to see Tony’s kids, and other family and friends. People always think everyone from England is from London. “When are you going to London?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you going to England?”
“Yes. But we go to Northern England, to Newcastle. Tony is from Newcastle.” Yes, like the Brown Ale.
“Oh. Hmmm.” As if they didn’t know there WAS anything other than London.
London Skyline
Yes, there are other parts of England besides London. Newcastle is just like London. I mean it’s a city… and there’s a river… and, um, pints of beer. I mean, there’s no Big Ben or Buckingham Palace. There’s no Eye and there’s no Harrods. There’s no big theater district and there’s no Tower.
Newcastle Skyline
Ok, maybe it’s not just like London, but it is England. And that’s where his family is and that’s why we go.
OH!! There are fish and chip shops!!! “Chip Shops” or “Chippys” as they are called. And late night eating- called Kebab. It’s a plate of undistinguishable meats and sauce and grease.
The Kebab
The Kebab, generally is served in styrofoam container, and is dropped on the ground at some point during the eating of- as the eater is normally too drunk to see and stand up-right. After said “kebab” is dropped on the ground, there is normally a “moment of truth.” Does the eater a) honor the 10 second rule and eat it off the ground (it’s too much of a mess to actually PICK it up) b) abandon the kebab and go home and pass out or c) and C is the most likely, return to the “kebab truck” and get another kebab. And then REPEAT the above until the eater chooses Option B, which usually comes after they have performed every other option, at least once.
The Four Stages of Kebab
One of the greatest things about Newcastle is their nightlife. They have a HUGE party scene and people there love to drink and have fun. The best part, for me, is the people watching. Having visited several times, I have learned a few things:
1) Women do not feel cold air. They dress like strippers, no matter what the time of year, and no matter what their weight.
2) Women drink their adult beverages through straws, which enables them to get drunk faster
3) People dress up for Stag and Hen Nights! (Hen Night = Bachelorette Night)
4) Regardless of the availability of a toilet, Men would rather pee outside and normally in doorways
5) There will be vomit
We’d never get drunk without these straws. Obvs.
I absolutely LOVE the girls in The Newk. They dress like total Hos. They get their clothes at Ann Taylor: SLUT or Whores & Spencer. When I go out there, I wear long pants, a top of some sort, and probably a sweater. Tony tells me I look like a Nun. Well, yes, in comparison, I do.
God bless them though, they are completely comfortable with their bodies and frankly, I think that is great.
There are a few sections of The Newk, where the partying is better than others. Personally, I like this place in “Wallsend” called The Anson. To me, it’s like “The Winchester” in Shaun of the Dead. If we can just get there… we’ll be fine.
The Anson. Personally, I think, the Granny in the wheelchair is a nice touch.
The Anson is a small pub, families go there, you can get your drinks, you don’t have to fight your way to the bar, it’s just more my speed. However, Whitley Bay and The Bigg Market are the “preferred” party spots for The Newky Revelers.
Whitley Bay is a lovely area by the sea coast. However, there is one street of club after club after club and I liken it to a tsunami. Each bar has a 30 minute limelight. The entire partying population rolls into a club, it’s packed and crazy. And then 30 minutes later, the crowd rolls out and goes into the club next door.
And the crowd is nuts. Scantily clad chicks and the dudes trying to get laid. There is a lot of sloppy making out, butt flashing and normally a fight or two.
At one bar (and I’ve tried like CRAZY to figure out the name and find pix) they had a little balcony dance floor area that was about 6 feet off the floor. It was round and the dance floor is about 6 feet in diameter. Because everyone there wants to be noticed, tons of people where fighting to get up on the balcony and it was JAMMED with sweating, mostly naked, drunk people. Seriously, probably 30 people on this tiny balcony. It was packed to the point that people were pressed up against the balcony railing, crushing their internal organs. There was one Meat Head dancing and leaning over the balcony and hoisting girls up to make out with him. I loved him because he THOUGHT he was hot, but he was gross. Inevitably, the first chick he hoisted would have a fist fight with the second girl he hoisted and so on and so on and so on. I kept hoping that the balcony would break and this idiot would go crashing to the floor, in a crumple pile of flesh, bones, and SoCal by Hollister… but it never happened. Too bad. THAT would have been exciting. I am kicking my own ass for not having my camera.
I have a love/ hate relationship with another bar in Whitley Bay. It’s called “The Hairy Lemon.” I mean, with an name like that, how could you not love it.
Le Hairy Lemon
The décor in the Hairy Lemon will not win any awards for design nor for being cutting edge. Or nice. Or clean. In fact, the whole bar is carpeted. So, imagine the combination of, 30 years night after night, drink spilling, toilets over-flowing, vomit and NEVER cleaning the carpet… imagine the smell, and also the squish, squish, squish of the carpet and you walk on it. Vile. Right? I wore open toe shoes which I promptly burned when I got out of there.
At one point I went to the rest room, which, was overflowing, as I am told it does every night. I left my Louis Vuitton bag with Tony. I came out of the bathroom and Louis was ON THE FLOOR. I was like “WHY IS LOUIS ON THE FLOOR?!?!?!!?!??”
My son, Louis
Needless to say, Louis was Purell’d the moment we got out of there. And he’s been in therapy 3 days a week since. The Hairy Lemon is gross. But there is a certain charm about a place with squishy floors, 70’s music and old man falling off their bar stools WASTED.
Hairy Lemon patron taking a disco nap
Another great section of The Newk is The Bigg Market. It’s another area of just bar after bar. They have this place called The Gate. It’s an indoor mall of bars. It’s kind of, a great idea, in my opinion. And it has a nice alley next door for the men to pee in and for couples to “get down” in the bin (garbage) juice.
Bin Juice = Sexy
Our friends Darren and Paola, who are normal and don’t, generally, partake in all of this horseshit, have a great story about walking down that alley (that alley was a short cut to Darren’s old apartment) and they saw a couple “coupling” on the ground. In the alley. In the run-off juice from the industrial garbage dumpsters. Can you imagine anything more foul? But hey, that’s The Newk.
Stag and Hen Nights are GREAT too. Well the Stags are. The Hens all just dress up like hookers and wear sashes that say – Whatever the bride’s name is “Hen Party” and plastic crowns. But the Stag Nights are great. We saw 25 guys dressed like Pilots and the Groom dressed as, the lone, Stewardess. We saw The Justice League and the Legion of Doom. Bananas in Pajamas, Oompa Loompas.
Legion of Doom, picking up some cash at the ATM
Of course, the bloom was off the rose, slightly, when I saw, from our flat window, Batman peel off his foam-sculpted uni-tard to pee in a doorway of the restaurant across the street. Bleh. Underneath that unitard he was pale, hairy and pimply. It was a sight I didn’t need to see. I just wish I had a picture!!
Upon our last visit, I VOWED to get some good pictures of The Revelers of Newcastle. So I did. Well, actually, I told them I was a photographer for a US publication and wanted to take their picture. Not a SINGLE person questioned me as to what magazine I was with or when they would be published or anything. haha. I have, since, been told, that this was “something a creepy dude would do.” I thought about it…. and, well, I guess I’m a creepy dude.
Here they are, The Revelers of The Newk:
I look normal, but I’m about to fall down. And I’m not wearing underwear.
Wheeeee! We forgot to wear pants!!
4 different gals, who all shop at the same store.
Real Housewife of Newk Jersey
Screw salad, we NEED Chicken!!!
A lovely tranny, in a baby-doll nightie, out for a stroll
Someone stole my clothes!!!!
It ain’t a party without Da Ali G
He’s dressed in long pants, a shirt and a hoodie. She isn’t.
Kebab time
Chick in the background…
wearing THESE
Finally! A girl dressed for the weather!!
I love a good sash
They’re GREAAAAAAT!
Real mean wear pink. The question is, which one is a man?
Doesn’t this make you want to rush right out and book a flight to The Newk?!?!? Yeah, it does. BTW, Ladies, all of your “going out” clothes should fit in your wallet.
Me, a Brit, a Pit and a Nitwit 