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Work took me to Newcastle mid-week, and yesterday I spent a very nice time wandering about the city. I'd not visited for a quarter of a century, and didn't know it well then, but in the meantime the caves of ice seem to have been replaced by sunny pleasure domes by the score. The weather helped, I dare say.

Those of us who work in children's literature often complain that the field is ghettoized by those in the richer, flashier world of adult books. Not so in Newcastle - for there, housed in a swanky new building, is the home of the Seven Stories Centre for Children's Books:

Sevenstories Centre for Children's Books

Meanwhile the Centre for Adult Books is in a far dingier condition. The louvre blinds aren't exactly welcoming, are they? And they can't even spell 'Seven'!

Photo482

It's good to see Newcastle redressing the balance.


Photo473

Like most northern cities, Newcastle seems to have a lot of public monuments, including a HUGE one (which for some reason I didn't photograph) erected in 1932 to commemorate the centenary of the Reform Bill. By 2032, will people even know what that was? Here we see a humbler tribute, in the likeness of a Timotei commercial, to people who prefer not to take lemon in their G&T. In heraldic terms, I believe the pigeons are 'close'.

Photo475

On top of the Timotei ad, behold St George, very much from the dragon's perspective.

Photo480

There is nothing - nothing, y'hear me? - Freudian about my penchant for photographing towers and chimneys, especially when they're as beautiful as this one.

(no subject)

Date: 2010-09-10 01:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hafren.livejournal.com
I once heard Terry Pratchett (at Hay, I think) muse on how odd it was that shops purporting to sell "adult books" invariably sold what could only be read with pleasure by a backward 14-year-old...

Whenever I go to Newcastle I keep meaning to visit the Adelaide pub and never get around to it; it was owned by the music-hall singer-songwriter Joe Wilson, whose work I like very much. He was teetotal himself but used the profits of the demon drink to finance his writing...

(no subject)

Date: 2010-09-10 04:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] steepholm.livejournal.com
I once heard Terry Pratchett (at Hay, I think) muse on how odd it was that shops purporting to sell "adult books" invariably sold what could only be read with pleasure by a backward 14-year-old...

I suppose it's yet another example of the way in which it's the people closest to the border (in this case of childhood) who are the most insistent on its maintenance. Spotty youths are more generally more anxious about being mistaken for children than machewerer individuals and embrace the Adult label in a tighter clinch. Maybe.

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