Slipping Down Slowly, Slipping Down Sideways

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This morning I was up at 5 o’clock- beating the sun by miles. I had an unusual craving for tea. There was no milk or sugar so I drank it straight. It was really disgusting and I couldn’t finish it. I swapped it for a can of coke, lit my first cigarette of the day and made a list of essential items.
It’s changed here, not half as good as it used to be, we say like we’re 70. Newcastle has lost it’s sparkle. We remember hide and seek in the pet cemetery, searching for the price of a mix-up in the gutter, playing chicken on Chily Road, drinking blackcurrent squash and eating peanuts in the Free Trade’s beer garden while our parents played Joni Mitchell on the jukebox, building dens in the backlane, reading the legendary graffiti in The Tyne’s toilets. Sunday afternoons in Chopwell Woods, school trips to the castle, getting lost in Eldon Square, sitting outside the library watching Mad Malcolm play the guitar and shout at red cars.
The city hasn’t changed, we have. We’re older, looking through cynical, bored eyes. We’ve done everything there is to do, gone everywhere worth going. We’ve outgrown it.
We are frequenting the same pubs our parents did when they were our age. The ‘l’ from the Jesmond Swimming Pool sign is still missing but that stopped making us laugh ten years ago. We spend every day with the people we went to playgroup with and they’re talking about getting jobs at BT and buying cars. And we’ve seen too many movies to be content here anymore.
I am on my way to your house to take you away. As soon as you open the door I am going to tell you to pack your leather jacket and laptop and come with me to Central Station. I know you’ll come, we’ve been planning this for months, I am only doing it for drama. We are going to elope. Elope to London.
Last night I sat on the back steps with my mum for the final time. We drank Lambrini (1.99 from the Spar) and listened to Carole King.
“How come you always stayed in Newcastle? Didn’t you ever want to explore?” I asked her.
“This is my home. I was born here and I’ll die here. God, how depressing”
“But it doesn’t have to be like that. You could leave anytime you wanted”
“I’ve got you kids, I couldn’t leave”
“But we’re grown up now, mum. You can do whatever you want”
“If only” she said and drained her glass. “Another?”

I’ve said goodbye to the cat and my bedroom. I’ve got a rucksack on each shoulder and I’m walking.
Down Dinsdale Road- twelve years ago I fell off my rollerskates and cut my knee just over there, by the postbox.
It’s a classic cold morning in the North East. But it’s bright and the air is fresh. I wonder how I’ll cope with the pollution in the capital. I’ll get used to it, probably.
For some reason I’ve got ‘Fog on the Tyne’ in my head. I went to school with the guy who wrote that’s granddaughter. She’s got two kids now and he’s dead. It’s a good song, sort of.
There’s Heaton Park where you can “go and see sex at night” according to my cousin, Annabel. I don’t know about that but to be honest I haven’t ever been there at night. It’s dangerous, even in the daytime.

They filmed a bit of Byker Grove over there- although we all know they filmed most of it in Durham. We all hated Byker Grove.
Sid’s Shop- where mum’s chuckie is about 400 quid so we can’t go in there anymore. We have to run past it usually but today I am leaving forever so I don’t care.
Down the hill towards The Cluny where mum and Annabel work as waitresses. I say work, whenever I go in they are just eating chips and gossiping. Luckily the manager is my auntie so they can do as they please- what’s she going to do- fire them?
Walking by the Ouseburn canal now, nearly there. God, the water is so filthy. Adam Baker jumped in once and sliced his foot open with a broken bottle. We had to take him to the hospital and he needed all sorts of injections. Idiot.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“Where’s your mum?”
“She’s asleep”
“Okay, good. Come on”
We are on the number one bus. We are excited, excited like we were on the day Alan Shearer visited our primary school. Excited like when the Methodist church burnt down. Excited like we used to be every Halloween and Bonfire Night. But this beats those things by a long way. We’re leaving, leaving together, leaving for somewhere we’ve never been. Leaving for good.
We look out of the window and know we’ll remember this place fondly, and it will always be our home. But we’re wasted on this town.