Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Newcastle Upon Tyne
If you have a hotel in any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Alnwick, Ashington, Bamburgh, Bedlington, Belford, Blaydon-On-Tyne, Blyth, Boldon Colliery, Chathill, Choppington, Corbridge, Cramlington, East Boldon, Haltwhistle, Hebburn, Hexham, Jarrow, Morpeth, Newbiggin-By-The-Sea, North Shields, Prudhoe, Riding Mill, Rowlands Gill, Ryton, Seahouses, South Shields, Stocksfield, Wallsend, Washington, Whitley Bay, Wooler, Wylam, Gateshead, Newcastle Upon Tyne
For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.
List your Hostel in Newcastle Upon Tyne
Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.
Short Extract
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The summer routine was for one couple to prep and shop from nine in the morning then open the doors for breakfast at 10.30. They would then work until 1.30 before heading off for a siesta and handing over to the others, who would then work alone until the other couple came back in at 6.30p.m.. The couple that started the day would also finish the day, locking up after the last person left, which was frequently on the yawning side of 2a.m. The rota would be reversed the following day. This meant that there were always four people working through the busiest period of seven till ten. It also meant that I worked with Faith in the kitchen while David ran the bar and helped Joy on the waiting side. Being thrown in at the deep end and all being equal partners resulted in the familiar ‘too many chiefs, not enough Indians’ scenario. Menial tasks were being overlooked while everybody was keen to put their stamp on the surroundings. In the backroom, Faith was in charge of the cooking while I took the orders, prepared the garnishes and accompaniments and washed up as we went along. By now we were regularly topping a hundred meals a night in a four-hour slot. In the 140-degree heat, stress cracks were beginning to show. Faith in particular was suffering. Inhaling chip fumes while leaning over four super-hot gas rings and an industrial oven were visibly melting her work capacity. Orders were backing up on the board and Joy, who was undergoing a barrage of hassle from hungry patrons waiting to be fed, was exerting pressure. There was no time for small talk; the only conversations ran along the following lines:
Alnwick, Ashington, Bamburgh, Bedlington, Belford, Blaydon-On-Tyne, Blyth, Boldon Colliery, Chathill, Choppington, Corbridge, Cramlington, East Boldon, Haltwhistle, Hebburn, Hexham, Jarrow, Morpeth, Newbiggin-By-The-Sea, North Shields, Prudhoe, Riding Mill, Rowlands Gill, Ryton, Seahouses, South Shields, Stocksfield, Wallsend, Washington, Whitley Bay, Wooler, Wylam, Gateshead, Newcastle Upon Tyne
We were in a rush not only to open the bar in time for the first wave of hungry holidaymakers, but also to find out if Barry had gathered enough information to enable us to put the plan into action tomorrow. First through the doors, as expected, was Siobhan. Pedro’s abhorrent smugness had fortified our own anxiety into solid anger. Siobhan was without this advantage and was still clearly shaken at the events. She was trembling, her face pale and drawn. From the puffiness round her eyes it was obvious she had been crying on the plane. Although she preferred to portray a hard edge, it was merely protection, sheltering fraught nerves and an edgy temperament. Living in Northern Ireland during the troubles, especially when married to a British soldier, had wreaked havoc on her emotions and like many in the same situation, she had withdrawn deeper into her own personal bomb shelter.
Don’t let this miserable face fool you. I like the sun and I like my fishing and that’s all I need. I wouldn’t go back to England now if you paid me. Too much rain, too much bad news on the telly, too many foreigners and too much tax. You can’t make a living in the UK now, you just work to pay the taxman. Plus Shark Bait would want some more money off me.’ He could see we were puzzled. ‘Shark BaitÂ… the ex-missus.’ So you’re hiding from her, then,’ asked Joy. No, she knows where I am but she can’t get anything from me if I stay here.’ Why did you split up?’ Joy persevered.