I had a lovely drive up to Newcastle last week. The weather was glorious and blustery and the wind billowing through the streets of Newcastle buffeted me towards the Theatre Royal where I was working. My raptor sightings kept me alert along the way - four kestrels and no less than three red kites. I have an affinity with kites, they must be amongst my favourite birds. The patchwork fields lining the A1 were bathed in Autumnal sunshine and the pungent aromas of freshly cut late crops were intoxicating through my window, ajar. I knew I was nearly there, saluting the bronzy Angel of the North as she waved me by.

There’s a good vibe to the theatre green rooms and I like a quick catch up with the technical staff and listening to and laughing at the banter. We’re all in the same boat and hanging around truly is an art form. After the seating call, I went to rest in my car with my darkest sunglasses on to shade my weary eyes from the dazzling glare of the street lights. Driving 255 miles for my minute fix of Puccini didn’t bear thinking about and justified a short sharp head banging session. I was back in the theatre before the top of the show and did some work in the green room. I caught up with Tom, deputy head of stage. He’s a great guy with a seriously dry sense of humour. He told me he’s on nights this week, so the show comes down for him at around 6am. In Nottingham and Salford he gets his life back a bit.

After a quiet Wednesday I headed back up North on Thursday. As far as raptor sightings go, this was a much richer day with a whopping count of eight red kites, four kestrels, three buzzards and a single heron making it quite a dramatic journey accompanied by my whoops of excitement. I was in the pit for Tosca that evening and so began the ritual of unloading, parking, eating my soup in the car and giving myself a pep talk before playtime.

I was staying with friends out in Whitley Bay for two nights, a departure from the usual budget hotels I frequent when I’m working. What a welcome, especially from Toffee, the sweet quirky waggy spaniel. I think Helen and Sarah were pleased to see me too, though not quite as waggy. It was luxurious to feel I had a home from home and the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Within reason obviously.

I had a gorgeous walk on Friday morning - their beautiful beach home is less than a 5 minute walk from the sea. My 8am walk on Saturday was quite different. My jeans were sopping wet within two minutes. Determined, I soldiered on. Nothing gets between me and the sea. It was an invigorating exciting march through wintry weather, and the sound of the crashing waves and the sight of the seabirds harvesting the freshly hurled up marine bounty signalled business as usual.

After an hour I felt I’d earned my treat and headed for Cullercoats Coffee, a hidden gem tucked away on a back street which I’d discovered to my delight on Friday. My relief must have been tangible when friendly owner Matt said they did in fact serve wet people and I felt no guilt whatsoever about hogging the fireplace for over an hour, clutching my coffee cup close for cosy comfort. I had my eye on the cakes the day before but settled for a sausage sandwich which didn’t disappoint, and subsequently had no room for cake. An excuse for a return visit next time I’m up I reckon.

Replenishing the stock of logs to stoke the flames, Matt’s relaxed style soon had me telling him I was working at the theatre and that I played the harp. A couple came in and Matt pointed me in their direction before I left - they’d been to Merry Widow the night before. It’s a small world. I had a good chat with Isla and Steve and it turns out Isla had sung many of the roles in Widow as a member of an operatic society. She’d been singing along and she shared conspiratorially that she was a little disappointed that the libretto had been adapted and her words no longer matched. I empathised with her dissatisfaction and she told me she and Steve had thoroughly enjoyed the show apart from the words being wrong. I asked if they’d be going to Tosca that night. No. Steve was still new to the world of opera and Isla thought it would be a bit much this time. She said maybe one of Puccini’s other operas first, or Die Fledermaus or Carmen.

On Friday I basked in the luxury of taking the metro to and from town, and on the way in enjoyed a delightful conversation with a lady and her 2 year old son Thomas. They had abandoned an attempt to go to a party at the coast. He was fascinated by my wearing two pairs of glasses, one pair on my head to shield my eyes against the welcome glare from the intermittent sunshine, the other for reading. Thomas was gently vocal and curious and his eyes glazed over as he recounted his stories to me by means of his mum. Public transport can be surprisingly pleasant and time flies when it is.

After a lazy Saturday morning back at HQ, I took to the wheel again, my car jam packed with home comforts. It was back up to my offstage position meaning an early finish. There was a strange vibe in the theatre with quite a few unexpected onstage absences due to illness. It was get out day too which is always stressful with the impending mass exodus of all the equipment required to put on two operas being tightly packed into the trailers. I had a quiet meal and went in search of coffee and a little sweet something to be washed down by it. I decided on a big department store with an impressive food hall and sniffed out some good looking individual macaroons in my favourite flavour, pistachio. I tried to engage with the waitress who was having none of my pre-treat exhilaration. Hedging my bets, I tried the other lady who was busy serving a couple, and cringed inside as the till system baffled her. Two elegant smartly dressed ladies came to stand beside me and were instantly seen to by the initial waitress. Appalled, I abandoned my efforts, cursing under my breath as I stormed out, thinking at least I’d be able to buy a coffee from the bar in my take out mug. Alas the barista had called last orders. I won’t be going back there in a hurry.

Consoling myself and telling myself that I wasn’t invisible, I went to Tyneside cinema and was immediately served by a waiter dressed as one of the characters in Clockwork Orange, giant eyelashes and all. Well, it is Hallowe’en next week and they’d really gone to town with their costumes. I had a delicious piping hot flat white with a cheeky miniature lemon meringue pie that zinged around my mouth like a citric sucker punch, beautifully countering the smooth kick of the coffee.

Tosca came and went, the get out has been and gone and I got my harp out safely just in the nick of time before they closed the road in front of the theatre. Phew! The thought of wheeling my harp to the car through cold rainy windy streets on a busy Saturday night wasn’t that appealing. I briefly met Huw! Huw is one of the truck drivers I hadn’t met before AND he’s a first language Welsh speaker. I can’t wait to find out more.

Tune in next week for my musical adventures in Hull…