I'm knackered. The Scottish trip took it out of me and Sunday I spent walking in the sunshine with Patsy123 to the Angel of the North. She's not seen it before, at least not close to. I have, of course, but it's always worth a look. I still think it's probably not good sculpture, but it's certainly achieved iconic status, and that's not all bad. More interesting than the big man, however, are the people who come to look at him. This time there was a long procession of big bellies eating ice cream. Several of the big bellies were carried on the short fat stumpy legs of American women, so that's to be expected, but an awful lot more were wobbling on the fronts of local Geordies. What's becoming of people here? Too much popcorn, beer and burgers, I guess.
Anyway, they all took their turn at standing with arms outstretched in ludicrous parody of the metal man, then sat on his feet and had their photos taken there. Gormley would be thrilled to see how popular his creation has become. There was even a family from Africa, dressed in really great yellow baggy outfits who were genuinely pleased to let Patsy123 take their photo altogether with their camera. They didn't have big bellies.
After all that fun, there was nothing left for it but to walk in the continuing sunshine to the Ravensworth Arms. There I was forced to try out all three of the guest beers, brewed by the North Yorkshire Brewing Company. It's a hard job, but Mr Zip is up to the task, and the beers were not found wanting. But the long walk back to Stately Zip Manor and the subsequent bottle of Baron de Barbon rioja took their toll.
Said goodnight to Patsy123 and fell sound asleep in the armchair. Woke up at 5 o'clock with a stiff neck and tumbled into bed. Plans for blogging put on hold.