Gateshead

We had every intention of going to Durham, honestly. I had heard that Durham Cathedral was incomparable, and that other people had laid down happy memories there. I was going off scant mythologies and second-hand memories in this part of the world.

But by the time we had packed up the car and executed the diamond-heist-difficulty check out procedure (which involved a complicated and precise series of key turns, fob swipes, code types, and corridor walks), I was ready for a coffee before we had even left York.

I saw the name Harrogate and on pure instinct asked if we could go there. And on pure instinct, Stuart said yes, never mind the fact that English people drive dangerously and were nearly causing a collision every minute. It's not good enough, Britain, to tailgate, change lanes without leaving a crash avoidance space, speed into oncoming traffic, enter intersections without checking them... I can say with the pompous certitude of a learner driver that English drivers do not drive to an Australian motoring standard.

Driving into Harrogate was unexpectedly congested. We soon found out why: the place is amazing, and perfect for tourism. It felt like a different kind of tourism to Nottingham's Robin Hoodery or York's Renaissance Fun-fayre. This was more like the Blue Mountains back home: a traditional spa resort with maximalist luxury architecture, still luring in a certain older and parochial traveller looking for a nice and pretty place that sells expensive things. To call it picturesque is an understatement: its neat beauty and extravagant proportions were everything.

My foot was bung so I was limping around a bit, but I couldn't stop. There was just too much to see: around every corner, more cobblestones, more columns, more fancy windows, more hanging flower baskets. We took our time walking around, photographing Dahlias, buildings, and ourselves.

The drive into Newcastle was unexpected. Everything was so agrarian until it wasn't. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne doesn't sprawl the way Newcastle-Ever-Mine does. And once we had passed the city threshold, suddenly all the buildings were crammed into a tight perimeter, reaching up high. The buildings are all large, but they are squished together on steep ravines. In fact, this is the most vertical city I've ever seen. (I haven't been to Santiago or Hong Kong, but I've been to Dunedin and San Francisco). It's practically Gotham City with its art deco, its caricatured proportions, its achingly nostalgic vistas.

And with that architectural verticality, that other kind of verticality: massive class differences between the rich and poor. There are beggars here smoking underneath castle archways, and people in Prada suits walking past them with Waitrose bags full of organic provender. It makes the place hard to read. I am so excited I can't even deal with it - I want to walk everywhere around here, as long as my foot will let me.

I saw an albatross, an eagle, a grey squirrel, and a cranky dachshund today. The dachshund was barking at a busker performing Asturias in Harrogate. I wasn't sure if they were a double act, you know, good cop/bad cop that sort of thing. I thought about it as I walked out of Waitrose with my bag of organic provender.Read more