Most of Friday was spent dancing around the car, going, "Please open!" The car is very particular about where you hold the clicky device, and it seems to change the exact nature of this position every time. Only after your hands are numb and it feels you've embarrassed yourself sufficiently to any bystanders will it consent to opening. And unlocking it in the traditional manner isn't an option: it works, but the car then flashes red lights at you in an onimous fashion, without showing any signs of planning to stop.

Via these multiple journeys, I took Alex to:

- the site of so many of my childhood memories: my former workplace (where I had another fond farewell with my stapler, and it was such a struggle not to answer the phone and file statements)

- a bit of Hadrian's Wall

- the nearest lake, another place where I've spent a disproportionate amount of my life. By the virtue of being a lake, it's quite attractive, but is it worth walking round roughly once every two months? I think not.

- Gretna Green (no, much to Alex's disappointment, we didn't get married)

- Newcastleton, a town with no distinguishing feature other than its shape. As you probably know, many towns are sort of circular, whereas Newcastleton appears to be built along a single very long road. We went there solely because it's in what was the fourth county we'd set foot in that day. This continues to be a good year for drinking establishments (I'm up to ten now, not counting Newcastle MetroRadio Arena and various houses where booze flows freely) and now counties too: this makes eight (not including those I've just passed through), soon to be nine.

- one of the trendy bars in Carlisle where I was forced to spend too many nights of my teenage years. Actually, the music was slightly better than in the supposedly goth-friendly place.

- Carlisle cinema, where we saw "White Noise". Oh dear, it was bad, and not in a good way. As it's a horror film, I was prepared to ignore any deficiencies, as long as it was scary. It wasn't.

- the local rock club, to show Alex how bad it was. They did play Nightwish, but <rampant musical snobbery> a night when something off The Black Album is cause for major celebration does not a good night make </rampant musical snobbery>

- Toneh's house, where we ended up staying until 5.45am.

I haven't been sleeping very well lately, anyway, so only being able to get four hours after all that was Not Nice. Nonetheless, we spent Saturday afternoon wandering around Newcastle. I got the day's quotient of black jelly bracelets, bought some funky, long and relatively expensive socks (in the hope that they'll feel less inclined to disappear than the boring, short and relatively cheap variety), and found the metal section in the HMV to be satisfactory.

We found a really strange place: it's a "hang out", with a significant proportion of alternative kiddies there. Not a phenomenon I'm familiar with, but an understandable enough one. But the manner in which they were loitering was truly bizarre. It looked exactly like they'd been at an all-ages concert and the fire alarm had gone off - but they clearly hadn't, as they continued to do so for hours. Perhaps this is a Novacastrian habit common to all sections of society, though: the British transport police were doing exactly the same thing in the station.

A seemingly-goth-friendly (judging by his company) chav asked me why I was wearing "that thing around my neck". "Erm, because I want to?" I said. Perhaps Newcastle people don't do spiky collars though: I had reason to believe spiky accoutrements were one of the staples of alternative-wear, but I had a look in the Emily The Strange and Misfits merchandise goth shop for a new one, and they only had a couple of belts.

Int evening, I saw Velvet Revolver with my brother. Tip: Newcastle MetroRadio Arena looks really easy to find from maps, and by the virtue of it being visible from the train, but isn't. As I discovered to my cost, there are signs pointing to its car park that actually direct you a circle around this scary totally-dead industrial area.

The Datsuns were supporting. I'm very wary of 21st century the bands, and was, of course, distraught that someone metal hadn't been chosen, but they weren't bad. They had some interesting and impressive melodies that reminded me a bit of those of The Stranglers.

Velvet Revolver though. I was a unsure beforehand whether it was really worth spending £31.50 on what was really just the ability to say, "I've seen Slash and Duff from Guns N' Roses and you probably haven't!" I've only heard the album twice - not because I don't like it, but because I don't have much time to listen to music, due to not being at home much and usually playing The Sims 2, which is better with sound, when I am. I've got over 300 CDs, and nearly always want to listen to brutal black / death / industrial metal, or power metal if I have a headache.

But every song was absolutely brilliant. I don't really know why - while being instantly recognisable, they're not especially memorable, and I can't identify with their mood. I guess it's just rock 'n' beepin roll at its finest. Despite the limitations of their repetoire, the set neither felt too short, nor dragged for a moment. Further, the showmanship was top-notch, and they had video screens so even when the tallest person in the place was standing immediately in front of you, you still had a perfect view of whoever had the most interesting part.

The audience reaction was a bit lacklustre, but that's possibly just as well. When I saw Arch Enemy, I got hit on the head with a bottle, and covered in beer, and people had glass bottles at this gig! Ah, north east England, it's so civilised!

So I'm very glad I went. I just wish rock was still happening: it's all very nice to be five metres from people with exciting pasts, but depressing that their presents are rather less so. I've been around - buying the records, reading the music press, seeing the bands - for various musical movements, but it's been too long since anything really special went on, and I was too young, far away and foolish to do anything about it when it did. When Guns N' Roses were at the height of their powers, me and Noj were listening to them on the way home from primary school, and while the black metal mafia were wreaking havoc in Scandanavia, I owned three tapes, by The Who, Ultravox and Take That. I can but hope for a new dawn of madness, but it isn't looking too likely: the twenty first century feels sufficiently blah that a revolution, once started, would work nicely, but rock seems too fragmented and stale to get one going.