On 24 March, 1973, a rather louche youth and his rather pretty fiancee tied the knot in a Methodist Church in Whitley Bay. The day was cold, windy and uncertain. The man sported a bouffant haircut and his hired morning-suit trousers came up past his chest. He was obliged to sink a brace of whiskies to get him up the aisle at all, for his nerves were so bad that his only thought was to lock himself into the bathroom until it was all over and he could watch 'Match of the Day' without interruption.
The guests dined on pressed beef and pemmican at the Royal Sovereign Hotel in Tynemouth, a meal that must have cost all of £1 per head. The bride and groom pushed off for their first night's honeymoon at the King's Hotel, in Richmond, Yorkshire, in a beaten-up old Morris Minor that the groom had hand-painted a particularly lurid shade of aquamarine. The man and his father had found it in the garage of his recently-bought home. The previous owner had given up on it and left it there to rot. Two new pistons and an MOT and the car was back on the road, though hardly roadworthy. It didn't matter so much in those days, before the onset of carbon dioxide readings and power-steering failures.
The man and wife drove the 250 miles from Richmond to Hoseason's Caravan Park at Winterton-on-Sea, where the cost of a caravan was £10 for the week, electricity extra. They were the only ones at the camp. They returned 39 years ago, to this day, to a tiny uniflat in Howdon-on-Tyne (cost £3,200 and a 25-year mortgage). The block of flats is now in a disgraceful state and the apartments let to a bunch of ne'er-do-wells from several nations not in the United Kingdom.
The man worked in Blaydon and had to take public transport an awful lot, as the old bangers he used to drive around in rarely worked for long and he was particularly impecunious. She worked in Heaton and had a much shorter commute.
Thirty-nine years later, the couple are still together. The man is stouter now - as Mr Suggs of the pop group 'Madness' says - 'Men get old, and men get fat' - and his temper has deteriorated somewhat, but the woman still has the same sunny outlook on life as she had when she was a young slip of a girl.
The stout man went about his business today, sitting in the garden, writing inconsequential drivel, as the sun beamed down on the back of his thick neck. The woman went to the Theatre Royal, Newcastle with a lady friend to watch a play about Ms Susan Boyle starring Ms Elaine C Smith.
They are less impecunious now, but the man often secretly yearns for the dear, dead days, when he took up a 2" paintbush and a tin of Valspar coach enamel, and turned his old jalopy from John Major grey to a particularly lurid shade of aquamarine.
The guests dined on pressed beef and pemmican at the Royal Sovereign Hotel in Tynemouth, a meal that must have cost all of £1 per head. The bride and groom pushed off for their first night's honeymoon at the King's Hotel, in Richmond, Yorkshire, in a beaten-up old Morris Minor that the groom had hand-painted a particularly lurid shade of aquamarine. The man and his father had found it in the garage of his recently-bought home. The previous owner had given up on it and left it there to rot. Two new pistons and an MOT and the car was back on the road, though hardly roadworthy. It didn't matter so much in those days, before the onset of carbon dioxide readings and power-steering failures.
The man and wife drove the 250 miles from Richmond to Hoseason's Caravan Park at Winterton-on-Sea, where the cost of a caravan was £10 for the week, electricity extra. They were the only ones at the camp. They returned 39 years ago, to this day, to a tiny uniflat in Howdon-on-Tyne (cost £3,200 and a 25-year mortgage). The block of flats is now in a disgraceful state and the apartments let to a bunch of ne'er-do-wells from several nations not in the United Kingdom.
The man worked in Blaydon and had to take public transport an awful lot, as the old bangers he used to drive around in rarely worked for long and he was particularly impecunious. She worked in Heaton and had a much shorter commute.
Thirty-nine years later, the couple are still together. The man is stouter now - as Mr Suggs of the pop group 'Madness' says - 'Men get old, and men get fat' - and his temper has deteriorated somewhat, but the woman still has the same sunny outlook on life as she had when she was a young slip of a girl.
The stout man went about his business today, sitting in the garden, writing inconsequential drivel, as the sun beamed down on the back of his thick neck. The woman went to the Theatre Royal, Newcastle with a lady friend to watch a play about Ms Susan Boyle starring Ms Elaine C Smith.
They are less impecunious now, but the man often secretly yearns for the dear, dead days, when he took up a 2" paintbush and a tin of Valspar coach enamel, and turned his old jalopy from John Major grey to a particularly lurid shade of aquamarine.
