Yesterday evening involved growling at people again. Our number was reduced from last week’s three zombies to two (me and Lucy), but Ian was running, so we were three at the zombie disco (plus our new friend, ‘Michael’. And quite a few other people, both colleagues and customers).
From the beginning of the evening, Lucy …
And me …
This week, I was slightly less mobile since I was chained to a lamp post. While my chains were surprisingly comfortable, It was a pain to keep having to adjust them between groups af people.
And this was my lamp post, just around the corner to Gateshead stadium.
I’d intended this, second, year to be my last, but we’ve pretty much decided to do it all again next year. The cameraderie amongst zombies (and runners) at the zombie disco was the deciding point.
On Friday evening, I resumed my duties as a zombie. While I did ache a little after my four hours of chasing people around Gateshead, I’ve not experienced the same level of pain as last year. Saying that, I did two nights last year. And there’s still next weekend to come.
On a different subject, there was a knock at our door yesterday. I answered after checking for obvious signs of Jehovah’s Witnesses or Salespeople. At our door were a man with a little girl. The man asked whether Sandra was home. When I told him that Sandra doesn’t live here, he explained that he’d been entrusted with the safe delivery of his grandaughter to another grandparent. He knew that she lives in one of the cottages in our street, but didn’t know which one. So he’d asked his grandchild to point out the house. The little girl had apparently pointed to the waving cat in our window.
I came across this note in a Post Office window, in Sunderland, last weekend.
Quite shocking really. Last weekend also saw us attending zombie school for a second year. The actual event starts next weekend and we’ll probably be doing two or three nights. Lesson learned from last year, though, I won’t be doing two nights in a row. I couldn’t walk properly after two nights last year.
Speaking of zombies, while I dearly love Sam Smith pubs, I do recognise that they can attract a certain type of clientele. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that, but it can put some people off. While in Preston a couple of days this week, I was seriously impressed by the work done on Ye Olde Blue Bell; it’s incredible how such a gorgeous building (and a Sam Smith’s pub) had been hiding behind the grotty render. I loved the old, dirty incarnation of the pub, but it’s now having the attention it deserves.
I’d not expected a Labour majority today, but the thought of another Conservative-led government is somewhat depressing.
At least common sense has prevailed in Gateshead.
A text from my youngest daughter. And he was. I’d imagine he was staying round the corner, after playing at the Tuns last night. It was a good night too, although this was the first pie festival at the Tuns where I was unable to partake of pie-ness. There was one potentially vegan pie, but I didn’t want to chance it. They had plenty of vegetarian pies though, pretty impressive for Gateshead. Anyway, Mr Tudor Pole was very good last night; and a true gentleman.