The Accident:Part One. The Green Bridge.

by | Jul 9, 2023 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

A point where you leave the dodgy end of town and cross the Metro into Whitley Bay proper.

I left my flat at the usual time, eleven-fifty, being lucky enough to live ten minutes walk from my two favourite pubs.

This was my life now, since she left. Walk, write, drink. It suited me as it numbed the pain. I strolled along Priory Avenue, one of the several long parallel streets lined with nineteen-twenties council houses, each as different as it’s occupants.

There was the one owned by the Muslim family, with its expensive triple glazing and neat block paved drive, on which stood three brand new Audis. In April, I’d wished them Eid Mubarak and since then, always got a lovely smile as I passed. At the other extreme there was the third generation work-shy whose garden housed everything from a collapsed four man tent to a Morrisons shopping trolley.

Then there were the weed hot-spots. Those places where the sweet, sickly smell of ganja hung permanently. The first was on the corner of Belvedere, outside the house with the permanently closed venetian blinds; stained brown with nicotine. The next aural delight came from the flat of the two sisters who permanently sat outside, come rain or shine, in their pyjamas, openly puffing on their splifs. I would always give them my best smile, which was greeted by a sneer. They would then turn to each other and raise their eyes.

Finally there was the little park with its half dozen rides, dedicated to the child in us. Unfortunately it was never populated by those for whom it was intended. Instead, it was a gathering spot for the estate’s radgies, youths of a certain age, partaking of the Mary Jane.

This brought me to the green bridge, the narrow portal to civilization. A point where you leave the dodgy end of town and cross the Metro into Whitley Bay proper. For me, the best thing about the Green Bridge is that it runs exactly North to South. Therefore on a summer’s evening, one can observe the sunset to the west, over Monkseaton Station. On the other hand, if one was to get up early enough, a exquisite sunrise, over Morrisons, would be the reward.

When she was still here, she had taken a beautiful picture of the metro line illuminated by the rising sun and set it as her phone’s wallpaper. She even added a caption, being a quote from one of my stories, I forget which one. As I recalled it, the pain returned. Would I have to go home or would it pass? I decided to cross the bridge and take a chance that it would.

It was also the point where a choice was necessary. Turn left and it’s the Left Luggage Room, a quaint place on the platform of Monkseaton Metro Station. Staffed by total eccentrics and selling the best pork pies in a considerable radius, as well as good beer, the place was a little haven.

Turn right, however, and one ends up in The Dog and Rabbit, a tiny micro pub and brewery in a former ladie’s outfitters. Today, I turned right, a decision that would change my life, if I still had one…

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