Walls and black pudding

Newcastle – Day 4, Monday 22 April 2024

OK. This is getting ridiculous. Have not heard from Emirates or courier company. I get in the Little Green Badger, head out to grab a pair of cheap wellies and a coffee before heading up to Scotland and Hadrian’s Wall.

Airport is only a short detour so bugger it, I’m going to go in and get my bag – no need to deliver. I spot my friendly rental-car-friend. He takes me over to an airline service desk. The woman taps away, makes a phone call. There is no bag, with that reference number, for Abbie Gorman, in Newcastle. It is still in Dubai. I am in disbelief. Why do I have an email from Emirates saying it is here? As well as been told, on the phone, by an Emirates customer service agent that it is here?

Ad Break: I have not had a single negative experience with people in Newcastle. Geordies have a reputation for being friendly but they really are. Every single person I have interacted with, has gone out of their way – like above and beyond – to assist. For no other reason than … it’s the decent thing to do. Kind people.

I’m numb. There’s nothing more I can do except … wait. I get in the Little Green Badger, pump up some Doobie Brothers and hit the road.

Cumbria  is equally as pretty as Northumberland. Pass lush gardens, sheep, brooding landscapes, I enjoy the drive even though it is wet and overcast.

I had planned on going up to Edinburgh for a day but time has got the better of me. I’m still determined to put at least one foot in the home of my forefathers. I make my way to Gretna Green, close to the border and has a pub. There is also a massive outlet centre. A sensible person would have nipped in to grab a few discount threads but you folks know I’m not one for shopping. As I check out the small enclave, a young woman skips up the street towards me wearing a wedding dress, her groom a few steps behind. I wonder if I’ve stumbled on a film set. I find out later, the Marriages Act 1753 prevented couples under the age of 21 marrying in England or Wales without their parents' consent. As it was still legal in Scotland to marry – without such consent – couples began crossing the border into Scotland to marry. Gretna Green was where you used to go to elope! Still a ‘thing to do’ for some young-uns. Very sweet.

I grab a pub lunch. The real deal. No gastro-pub-grub, this is back to basics. Love it. I skip the Haggis Neeps & Tatties, order the pie. The bathroom is exceptional – a time warp from 1963. I check out the world’s worst sculpture then weave my way, via the backroads, to some of the Hadrian’s Wall sites. I listen to a couple of pod-casts on the way explaining the purpose, construction of the Wall, the life of the legionnaires (me: sad history nerd).

I’ve visited parts of the Wall before but it never ceases to intrigue me. Like I said, I’m into old shit. The sheer scale of it – construction began in AD 122, over 1,900 years ago, it took around 15,000 men and six years to build. Running 73 miles (80 Roman miles), built from sea to sea to keep the damn dirty marauding Scots out, it is the largest Roman archaeological feature in Britain. The forts, the temples, the villas, the villages that sprung up along the way. All very interesting but ultimately … it failed. Could someone please tell Trump that walls don’t work. What on earth was Hadrian thinking? He sounded like a good bloke. He was respected by his soldiers. But the Romans actually did a pretty shit job constructing it – they cut lots of corners. Subsequent Roman emperors were not so invested, the wall fell into disrepair. One emperor even built another wall further north! As a famous person once asked: 'What have the Roman’s ever done for us?’. Well, they built a wall which the English Heritage/National Trust can now charge people £11+ a pop to see the ruins of so I guess that was worthwhile …

The extra exciting bit about the wall is it started in Wallsend, Tyne and Wear, which is located right in my new favourite city, Newcastle. I need to know more. A google search of Wallsend presents two options: Wallsend, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK; and Wallsend, Newcastle, Australia. I’m guessing Hadrian never dreamed his ambition would reach so far.

By 3:00pm, I still have not heard from Emirates or courier company. Time to head back to Newcastle.

I am stupid stupid stupid. Stupid for taking 1 weeks’ worth of meds in my carry-on, the remainder in my checked baggage which is still MIA. I figured a weeks’ worth would be enough to allow for any contingencies. I didn’t count on one of the richest countries in the world being the most inept when it came to managing the aftermath of a natural disaster (whoops, probably now on that watch-list again). I’ve learned my lesson. Always take the essentials in your carry-on folks. 

Without over-sharing too much, I take three types of medication each day, two of them I can skip at a stretch, the third cannot be missed – things will not end well. I am now cutting it fine with one day’s supply left. Based on the information provided by the airline, being told my bag was here and due to be delivered, I had not thought it necessary to see a doctor to get a script. I ring the travel insurance company to inquire as to what action I should take. According to the customer service person (in Australia), it is super-easy, just make an appointment at a local GP, get script issued, claim any out-of-pockets on return to Australia, good to go.

Local friend has given me some suggestions re. getting an appointment – including a walk-in centre. I give the centre a ring. Explain the situation. They tell me to ring 111. I ask, is that the emergency number? No, that’s 999. Oh, in Australia it’s 000. 111 is the number for the NHS. I try ringing but because it’s like an “0800” number, my mobile service does not recognise it. I check the website and find another option: 1800 1111 (for deaf people). No, won’t go through. Now I know I can be a bit daffy sometimes but I seriously tried EVERYTHING. I switched from my Australian sim to my (digital) UK sim. I added/removed the country codes – and the zeros. It would have been fruitless anyway – as I found out later.

Thinking outside the box / getting a bit panicky … I head to the local Boots pharmacy. The assistant and pharmacist are sympathetic. The pharmacist tells me I need to get a script but I will have to pay for the consult and prescription ie. NHS will not cover. Me: not a problem (thank goodness for that travel insurance). She says the doctors at the walk-in centre will be able to issue the prescription – they are open until 8pm this evening.

Get in the Little Green Badger, pump up some Alanis Morissette and drive through rush hour traffic to whereeverthefuck the place is.

Park (illegally). Enter a throng of people in various states of discomfort. The sign at reception reads: we’re at capacity, you won’t be seen tonight.

Head back out into the rain. Getting shameless and desperate now. Head into a nearby pharmacy. I ask the woman, where on earth do I go?! Another wonderful individual. She advises to come back to the walk-in centre at least 10 minutes before opening time – 8am tomorrow. I also ask if she knows any private practitioners (google doesn’t seem to be very helpful in that department). She suggests Nuffield – a private hospital.

Jump in the Little Green Badger, pump up some Dire Straits and head over to Nuffield Hospital in Jesmond. Two lovely women on reception. I explain my situation (again). I can see I’m in the too-hard-basket. But … one of them makes a call. Which turns into 2, 3 calls. She talks to the Duty Sister upstairs. She talks to London. She talks to Bree on reception at Level 1. The team rallies, they can get me in to see a doctor at 10am tomorrow morning. Off I go to level 1 to sort admin – and pay.

As I come back past the ground-reception, I’m trying super hard to keep it together. I want to hug these women for helping me (I don’t because that would be weird). I thank them, head out into the rain, ring my Geordie friend to vent, drive back to Field Street in the Little Green Badger.

Another day that nearly broke me. Thankfully I have wonderful friends – in both hemispheres that are helping me keep-it-real.

Long day, time for a bath.

Newcastle – Day 5, Tuesday 23 April 2024 (AM)

Feeling pumped. Jump in the Little Green Badger and head over to Jesmond. Make a perfect parallel park (on the right) then decide to shout myself a yummy breakfast before heading to Nuffield Private. A random café. Perfect coffee (praise be). The husband and wife team strongly encourage me to get some black pudding with my eggs benedict. Here’s the thing … black pudding was always on offer for breakfast at my grandparent’s place, I remember the warm, comforting smell of it cooking (delicious). I knew what it was made of – that never bothered me but I do have a vague recollection I didn’t like the texture. I decline their kind offer to partake in a piece of pudding with my breakfast. But it comes out anyway!

I head up to the hospital. Pass my wonderful angels on the ground floor reception, snake through the corridors and up to Level 1. The youthful doctor is thorough, professional. He fills all three scripts. I am gushing with gratitude and relief.

Decide the clothing situation needs some attention so I jump in the Little Green Badger, pump up some Barry Manilow and head to the Metrocentre, Gateshead. Levi shop: “I would like a pair of jeans exactly like these ones I’m wearing please”. 8 minutes later I have tried on numerous pairs, found The Fit, paid, left shop. Next, get script filled. They can do 2 of the 3. Awesome. Take my time in Boots to buy some makeup, hair stuff. Shoes. Find a shop, 20% off everything. Yes, they fit, those will do. Done. Back to my Field Street burrow to have a hot bath, take stock and watch some Netflix.

Newcastle – Day 5, Tuesday 23 April 2024 (PM)

Now getting seriously pissed off with the bag situation. I am due to leave in 2 days time. If the bag hasn’t arrived by then, I know it’s going to be a drama to get it returned to Oz. I am not a confident person, I hate confrontation. I also know I’m going to have to squeak a bit louder. It terrifies me but I know I need to step up. About 4:00 pm I decide to pop down to the local to fortify myself with a glass of wine then start making calls to Emirates and travel insurer.

The Brandling Villa: “Independent boozer specialising in whiskies and craft beers with homemade burgers and live music” – lovely little pub – cool staff with ace tattoos. The best-seat-in-the-house – looking out the front window – is taken so I sit at a nearby table. A chap further down is working on his laptop. I meet a guy with his dog, Stan. Meet his friend from Kalgoorlie of all places. The place is quiet at the moment. I make my calls. Huffing and puffing with frustration. Travel insurer customer service person is vague and repeatedly says, “we assess on a case-by-case basis” so can’t give you estimate of entitlement for ‘Delayed Luggage’. The pub has a library. I check out old favourites: Beano Annuals, The Broons, Thunderbirds, The Goodies. Hehe. The man enjoying 2 x pints + best-seat-in the-house is laughing at something outside – this gets my attention (me: always need to be part of the action if there’s a laugh to be had!)

Now Newcastle is a gorgeous, compact city but, like all cities, it’s a shambles at rush hour. No more is this so, than at the two roundabouts at South Gosforth. Known as the Haddricks Mill junction, six roads converge onto the junction, used by tens of thousands of commuters each day. The day before, this junction just about scuppered me: I assumed it was a controlled intersection, given I had a green light, so I started to progress through the intersection. Thankfully, before dropping down to first in the Little Green Badger, I realised it was a completely free-for-all-roundabout. Total mayhem.

This evening it is quite the entertainment. I watch out the window with my neighbour (2 x pints + best-seat-in the-house guy), wincing, laughing at the exceedingly close-calls. Cars turning in front of others with literally millimetres to spare. Cyclists, ducking and weaving through the traffic. Despite the chaos, no one beeps, no one gets cross, there are no crashes – though it is, unsurprisingly, one of the city’s black spots.

Now folk that know ye olde Full Bush Rat know she doesn’t mind a wee chat. As we watch the abortion that is rush hour at Haddricks Mill, 2 x pints + best-seat-in the-house guy and I get talking. His name is Graham. He is a nice chap (though I would have benefitted from a few subtitles ….) After a time (2 hours …. 5 hours ….), discussing beer, luggage, skiing, dementia, work, dogs, I move my stuff to his table (my cunning plan to secure the best-seat-in-the-house is working).

We grab another drink each.

Then we get a bottle.

To be continued …