Our Night at the Circus (and how we missed the train. Again.)

Last Thursday, a co-worker showed up after lunch with coupons for half off Chinese State Circus tickets and a persuasive argument that anything claiming to feature Shaolin warriors simply cannot be missed. She convinced me, so on Saturday night, Josh and I headed up to the Town Moor in Newcastle (it really is a moor in the middle of the town- a huge field with cows and everything). We came via train and metro and ended up sitting with my co-worker and her assorted friends.

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The Olympic Nation Spectacular did indeed approach spectacular. There were plate spinners who spun 12 plates at a time, a contortionist who sat on her head, gymnasts who tumbled their way through 7-foot-high hoops, 'lions' made of two people who walked (together) on 6' diameter balls over see-saws, and a couple who spun around above our heads using only a few pieces of clothe and absurd displays of strength. They even ended with a quick round of gymnastics routines on the pommel, rings, parallel bars and balance beam in front of the Olympic rings and the British and Chinese flags. We were not represented.

The crowd cleared out quite quickly, but we hung around on the grass in front of the tent in the darkness, practicing our plate spinning (£2.50), picking candy floss out of our teeth (£3), and judging just how possible it would be for us to hang from each others' flexed feet (not very). Sometime around then, I pulled out my trusty little train time table. And panicked.

You see, most working societies use the weekends for extra-curricular activities. I know they do the same here because I've seen the drunkards in Durham on a Saturday night (or in Newcastle on a Friday afternoon, for that matter). And most extra-curricular activities, say the circus, for example, end not earlier than 9:30 or 10. Yet, for some reason, the southbound trains from Newcastle end at 9:50 on Saturdays. NINE FIFTY! That's a full 54 minutes earlier than a weeknight (which is embarrassing enough). And while, though not encouraged, you could always hang around until the 4:30 on a Saturday morning, the first train on Sunday is at 8am. I hadn't even looked at the train schedule before we left because I assumed that there would even be an extra, later train on top of the weekday schedule. That is exactly what I get for assuming such foolishness in this country of 10-5 shopping hours. Sheesh.

We had ten minutes to make the half hour journey to the train station, so we tucked our tail between our legs and headed out for a drink with co-worker and friends. Luckily, this co-worker is a recent student who understands the nauseating quality of a £45 taxi ride. Also as a recent student, she lived for three more days in a house with four vacant but fully-furnished bedrooms.

Instead of a dash and a price tag, we had a nice pint, a decent bed, and a lovely bus ride on Sunday morning. We ate croissants and coffee at the train station and headed home around 9 the next morning. Altogether, a satisfying excursion.



By the way, that makes number three for me, and I plan on JOTTING DOWN the emergency bus schedule onto my train timetable as soon as possible!

(Which, I know from experience, gives you an extra 27 minutes on weekdays. Not an extra 27 minutes out with your coworkers, mind you, but an extra 27 minutes to dash, panicking, from the train station to the general area you know buses leave from near the Earl Grey Monument. If, through shear luck and providence, you happen upon the bus with Bishop Auckland as it's destination, you then have just enough time before the bus actually pulls away to call your husband and thank him profusely for his quick fingers looking up the bus timetable online. It gets into Durham around midnight.)