Up t’North

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York, Newcastle (the Tyne one, of course), Liverpool, Hexham, Durham, Bishop Auckland, Harrogate, Hull and Holy Island; the Lindisfarne Gospels (or at least, one page of them), tons of Pre-Raphaelites, an apocalypse or two by mad John Martin and the fantastical world of Marc Chagall; the hustle and bustle of Holy Island (‘it’s a place of deep spiritual calm’*) and the rather unnerving profound calm of Port Sunlight (the Levers’ model village for the Sunlight Soap workforce). Not much music but a good holiday, nevertheless.

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Lindisfarne/Holy Island – don’t be duped by this photo: just behind me (and under siege) is the St. Cuthbert burger van (or some such) and a car park full of bus trips.

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Port Sunlight – no burger vans, no bus trips, no people: very pleasant, but eerie.

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…and, just to prove that there is something behind that déjà vu feeling we sometimes get, I found that the Angel of the North had been signed, not as you might think by Anthony Gormley, but by –

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(it wasn’t me, guv, honest!)

* Woman in a queue in Durham

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