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About Newcastle

Oi, you donkey! Escort, yeah? What a bloody mess that car is! I’m talkin’ Ford Escort, mate, not some fancy pants ride. Piece of junk, absolute rubbish! My fave flick, “Goodbye to Language,” Godard’s mad genius, fits this crap heap perfect. “The image is a prison!” he screams—well, this car’s a bleedin’ cage on wheels! Rust bucket, engine sounds like a dying goat, idiot sandwich of a motor!

“Worst nightmare of my life”

Once I’m outta there, I head back to High Street. I’m feelin’ a bit peckish again, so I grab a pasty from a stall. It’s hot, flaky, and just what I need. I’m munchin’ away, feelin’ like a king. But then, I see a busker playin’ the guitar. He’s got a crowd, and they’re lovin’ it. I toss him a couple of quid. Gotta support the arts, right?

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