The Ouseburn Valley

The Trent

Winter! All my friends behind the doors of their houses, no one coming out. Home instead of the pub, imagine that, home instead of the pub, who would have thought it would have come to that? The evening was for the pub, that’s how it was, that was how the evening was to proceed. Work, and then the pub for the evening and, likely, the whole night. Work and then pub, the first taste of beer, the first pint going down quickly and the second more slowly. Work, pub, the first pint quickly and the second less so and the third slower still, and after the third a pint of tap water to keep you hydrated.

Work, then pub. Work – everyone has to work – and then the pub. Work, pub, it’s very simple. First of all, work, and then the pub to follow. Around six-thirty: meet at The Trent House at seven. Yes, that’s how it should be, The Trent at seven. The Trent, with its free jukebox, then one pint, see if anyone wants a drink, buy a round of drinks and go back to the table, and then another, bought by someone else, delivered by someone else, drink that, back at the table.

Happiness of the pub! What is life without a pub? First one pint, then another. Conversation: how has the day gone? It was a day like any other, but there are conversations to be had about the day. How I like to listen to other’s stories about their days. I have few stories; I’m quieter. I wait until the innuendo starts, after the third pint. Then I am on home ground. Innuendo: yes, that’s happiness. Quick thought, but thought about nothing in particular and least of all philosophy. That’s the last thing I want to run up against, philosophy. Anything but philosophy. Innuendo, yes, philosophy no.

Three pints and all is well. The world turns around us, but we are at its centre. Three pints of Speckled Hen, and all is well, especially if the barrel is new and the beer is fresh. Three pints, and the world turns around us and we are at the centre. The world turns around us, others join us, but we are already at the centre of the world. Three pints, and I text the ones who are not here, at the pub, I text them: come, come now to the pub, we’re missing you and you’re missing this, the pub, for there is only the pub.

Three pints, a pint of water, and it’s time to text those who are not yet here. Perhaps we can pick them up on our journey to the other side of town to the other pubs. Perhaps we can arrange to meet on the way to the other pubs, in the Ouseburn Valley. For after three pints, it is time to take a journey, not a long journey, to the Ouseburn Valley and to the pubs of the Ouseburn Valley.

The Cumberland

What wondrous pubs are there in the Ouseburn Valley! What happiness there is to be found in the Ouseburn Valley! Past Morrisons, over the roundabout, past the Big Opticians and down the slope to The Cumberland Arms. What happiness to pass through the doors of The Cumberland Arms. My happiest hours are spent there, at The Cumberland Arms. No music except music played by folk musicians. No music except those played in the other bar by the folk musicians. An array of beers, new each time. A new array, new beers to try, each time.

Happiness of new beer! Happiness that there are new beers to try, each time! Spread before us, taps with logos of beers from different breweries. The breweries are old friends. A new beer from Wylams! It must be good. A new beer from Jarrow! It must be good. And it is good. And if it isn’t good, there are always other beers. If one beer isn’t good, you try the beers of your friends, which may well be good. The rule is: never order the same beers. Sip the beer of your friend. Say: mmm, that’s good. Then you can order that beer next time. And they can sip your beer and say, mmm that’s good, and then they can order that beer, next time. There’s always more beer to try. And there’s the cider, too. Prizewinning cider. Prizewinning beer. Always beers and cider, the full array, spread about before you.

Beers, ciders. But my friends are behind their doors tonight. My friends are behind their doors as I am behind my door with my Cava. I am watching a documentary on North Korea with my Cava. I listen to The Fall with my Cava. But it is not the same. There’s only a couple of glasses of Cava, and there are pubs out there, pubs in the winter, pubs in the darkness. For it is dark, and shouldn’t we be in a pub? It is dark, and we should be together in the pubs of the Ouseburn Valley.

Even the words, Ouseburn Valley, lift my soul. What marvellous words: the Ouseburn Valley. What a marvellous name: The Cumberland Arms and The Free Trade Inn. Nothing in life is better than The Cumberland Arms and The Free Trade. What could be better than The Free Trade, with its view of the Tyne. There is the Tyne, there’s town, and you are in the beer garden of The Free Trade. Tyne, town, and you are in The Free Trade, looking at Tyne and town. Looking along the river towards town. Along the river, the lights on the river, the bridges, and town. Along the river, lights on darkness, the bridges across the river, and then town.

The Free Trade

Beer at The Free Trade, in summer, there is nothing better. A sundowner at The Free Trade. And yes, the sun really goes down. The sun really goes down, beyond the Tyne, beyond town. And darkness falls. Darkness falls over the city. Darkness falls, and we are at The Free Trade. Darkness, and The Free Trade is ours, superlative beers, a marvellous view, and, if we want them, baps. Beers, a view, and baps, if we are hungry. Baps, if we are so inclined.

Where else do you go to watch the sun go down but at The Free Trade? There’s the Millenium Bridge, the Sage, where The Fall are playing on Wednesday, and the Tyne. Of course there’s also the pub called The Tyne, just a couple of hundred yards from The Free Trade. A couple of hundred yards down and across from The Free Trade, there’s The Tyne, the pub, that is, and not the river. But there is the Free Trade and then, not too far away, The Cumberland Arms. Cross from one to the other, it doesn’t matter in which direction, from The Free Trade to The Cumberland Arms. Go across, cross from one to another and you are blessed in that crossing. Go across, and the gods are looking down and demigods rain flowers on you. Go across, cross, and all is well in the universe, everything is passing and you are passing. Go across, and the universe, too is passing, everything is passage! You are on the way to The Free Trade from The Cumberland Arms! You are on the way from The Cumberland Arms to The Free Trade!

There is nothing great than this! You are suspended between one great pub and another. From one pub you pass, to another. One pub, then another, first that one, then that one. First The Cumberland Arms, then The Free Trade. Or the other way round, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that there is more than one great pub. True, there are also The Cluny and The Tyne, but these are not quite as fine. True, there are the other pubs, which are fine enough, but they are only waystations, and we are passing. What matters is passage, and we are passing from one pub to another.  Do you know such happiness? Do you know what the happiness is of passing from one pub to another?

We take newcomers to the city to the Ouseburn Valley. We take them there, it’s our gift. What more is there to give? We take our guests there. We take them to the pubs of the Ouseburn Valley. For it gets no better than the Ouseburn Valley. My Cava has run out, but I am thinking of the Ouseburn Valley. Two glasses of Cava and a handful of peanuts, and I am thinking of the Ouseburn Valley. It’s cold outside, it’s dark, my Cava’s run out, and I think only of the Ouseburn Valley.