Friday night and Wednesday morning
It was still early (8.30ish) on Friday night and my friend Julia and I were about to leave the Centurian Bar near the railway station in Newcastle when a male voice called to me; “Nice jeans, what make are they?” Stunned; I stopped in my tracks and fingered the spangly logo on the back pocket. “Victoria Beckham,” I replied as I looked up to see the voice belonged to a chubby thuggish looking bloke wearing a peach coloured CP Company polo shirt, “Why?” “They make your arse...