Home again

I think the hardest thing about being in Newcastle was seeing things written down and desperately trying not to read them out loud in a Geordie accent, thus avoiding getting my arse handed to me. It's certainly a great city with a fantastic nightlife, and I would like to go back there some time with mates. Unfortunately, as I'd set my mind on heading home, it really was the last step of a very long journey and I didn't allow myself to experience it in the way it's meant to be; if you haven't done shots with a pair of fake-tanned boobs in hot pants, have you really seen Newcastle? I certainly hope not.

The strange thing is, after the first couple of days of my trip, I really didn't think I could do this. It felt like I hadn't been home in an age, and all I saw was a massive journey ahead with only me, myself and I for company, and no one wants that. But my unplanned trip to Shrewsbury, even before I left Swansea to head there, excited me as I realised there was no getting lost, and I thought, in the words of the great Richard Pryor, "hey, this shit might work!"

My second day in York was a bit of a downwards blip. A city I very much enjoyed on a primary school trip, I thought I was going to eat the place up this time round, but the weather was horrendous and, after getting absolutely soaked after a gloriously clear and sunny morning, I thought about jacking it in and heading home. But visiting Harrogate, spending time with my lovely friends Charlie and Rachel, changed all that, and I was ready for the next leg. It felt like the last leg too, even though it was almost an extra week, and the tedium of some of the towns that I've slagged off massively wasn't enough to dampen my spirits.

As I say, I'd set my mind on going home from Newcastle; my original plan was to go to Glasgow, hire a car and drive through Scotland from there, but the rental issues I had in Shrewsbury made that a massive gamble. Even so, I feel I could have very easily carried on and headed forth if I felt it could be done the way I wanted. But maybe it's fitting; apart from a few days in Swansea to see my aunt and uncle, the Shrewsbury fiasco made this an almost-exclusively English journey, and perhaps Scotland deserves a trip all of its own. Once I get the required utility bills to hire a car and the wall-bouncing frustration of being at home too long sets in, we'll see...