"Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes, even if it was for just one day? Wouldn't it be good if we could wish ourselves away?" : Nik Kershaw
Disaster. In agony.
Had bath, applied my St Tropez and went downstairs to make a salad.
I was trying to open a jar of pickled red cabbage, something I have always been able to do easily. However, whatever strength I had in my arms seems to have gone.
Effect of hormones.
Tried wedging said jar lid between the top of my washing machine and worktop as a make shift vice. However, as I tried to turn the jar with both hands, I've ripped off an acrylic nail, which had been glued on at the salon under a strange blue-ish light.
It's taken my real nail with it.
Throbbing pain and blood. Had to run hand under cold tap. Seamless fake tan ruined.
I've text Alan - who's normally good with sympathy, mending things, and home remedies.
Important things now that he has rejected the modern world.
"Argh! V sore. Torn false nail off by accident!"
"I don't do nail talk. Busy staining a mahogany table bought at auction. Going to lacquer it. Get a grip!"
Which is what I had been trying to do in the first place.
Nail varnish v wood varnish. Mahogany stain v false tan? We still had things in common, but perhaps not quite exactly the same.
Put plaster on bleeding finger, but because I now have nine long nails and one completely missing, it looks stumpy.
I have the hand of comedian Dave Allan.
_______
Woke up and my finger is still throbbing.
Determined not to let it ruin my day. It's sunny, and I have a day off!
The bad news is that I've only got £18 left in my current account. Which needs to last three days.
Window shopping is free though.
I think I can stretch to a couple of pots of tea at Adrianos in Jesmond while I watch the world go by.
Decided on a casual look of skinny knee-length denim cut-off jeans, navy t-shirt and neon-pink Converse trainers.
Plus my fake Rayban shades.
Perfect for an Italian cafe.
I'm glad I made Newcastle my new home. It glistens and gleams a lot more than I thought it would.
Buildings covered in reflective glass, dramatic new bridges to complement the old. Trendy bars and cafes.
Dappled sunlight strobbing through the Tyne Bridge fretwork onto the river.
Stunning.
From what I've seen, looking good in Newcastle has nothing to do with the size of your wage packet. It's how you wear something. Most people seem to take a lot of pride in their appearance.
Newcastle Upon Grime might have been a suitable name for the place in the days when it coughed up coal, rivets and girders for heavy industry - but not now.
From ship building to shopping.
What a journey.
Not so much gender dysphoria, as Geordie dysphoria.
Retail, food and bars play a major role in the local economy, alongside the more traditional public sector employers.
Despite the recession there's a confidence and irrepressible swagger about the place. Hard times and pain are nothing new here. Toughness is in the local DNA.
Which puts my sore nail into perspective.
So, as an adopted Geordie, I'm going to stop thinking about it.
