Biscuit Factory Summer Launch

Last night was The Biscuit Factory’s Summer Launch, and I was delighted to be able to go, having missed their autumn one due to other commitments. I’m a big fan of The Biscuit Factory – they stock an interesting range of artists at a range of price points, with the idea that art shouldn’t just be a luxury purchase (they even do a financing scheme if you want to buy a piece), the staff always seem friendly, and the cafe is great (entry to the galleries is free).

Last night showcased their new exhibitions, which include Simon M Smith’s floral patterened work – a hit with my companion, S – and pieces from the Open Contemporary Young Artist Award (both of which run till August 25). With such an eclectic mix of work on display, you’re likely to find plenty to like – as well as plenty that makes you shake your head and go ‘so that’s what they are calling art these days?’, which is all part of the fun. (I admit I spend a LOT of time going, ‘I can see it’s good, but I wouldn’t want it in my house…’) Of the current artists on display, probably my two favourites were the almost photo-real paintings by Cherylene Dyer and Basia Roszek’s vibrant portraits. Both are Glasgow-based women artists whose subjects tend to be women, so clearly I like a theme…

My favourite part of the evening was discovering that The Biscuit Factory now has a bookshop! Forum Books now has a dedicated space, a cute little cubby papered with pages of books, and of course after a couple of glasses of fizz I abandoned my ‘I must not buy any books!’ and splurged on some hardbacks. But you have to support indie bookstores, right? Our purchases came with a literary fortune cookie, to up the cuteness factor.

There’s lots to check out over the summer at The Biscuit Factory. Unfortunately inclement weather made their outdoor barbeque space a bit of a wash out, but on sunnier days their Artisan Socials (Wednesdays, 4-8pm) look like a good destination: outdoor drinks and a different foodie pop up every week. The Factory Kitchen (the less posh, more cafe space upstairs) is also getting in on the act with Sloe Sundays, where from 16 June you can enjoy a terrace gin bar (there is a covered space, so less dependent on the weather) DJ sets and botanical cocktails with your all-day brunch.

See you there?

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You can also support my writing by buying me a Kofi. Or hiring me to write stuff. Either’s good.

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Blackwell’s Bookshop – Thorne’s that was

Today was supposed to be all about a trip to Quilliam Brothers, but alas it was closed for refurbishment so my friend and I ended up in the Tyneside Coffee Rooms, where I ate a portion of apple pie and custard so big I needed a lie down afterwards.

But heading in that direction did give me a chance for another wander down memory lane: a visit to Blackwell’s bookshop. Another one of those shops that utilises the city’s stunning architecture, this is on the ground floor of what I believe used to be the Grand Hotel (going from the sign, anyway). But to me it was more memorably the site of my first bookshop job, at Thorne’s University Bookshop.

I worked there when I was doing my A levels and, if I recall correctly, when I was home through uni: at one stage doing a day shift there then heading to my evening shift at the now defunct Cooperage pub and nightclub: a punishing schedule that had me so tired I regularly nearly walked into traffic.

My memories are overwhelmingly fond, if sometimes odd. The place was run by the Thorne family: Mrs Thorne was generally kindly and pleasant, but my limited experience of Mr Thorne was of a stern, Victorian type figure who toured the shop each morning to a chorus of “Morning, Mr Thorne!” as he greeted us individually. The shop was run as a cross between a personal fiefdom and Grace Brothers: the staff were nearly all women, most of whom were – or seemed to my teenage eyes – middle aged, and we were all expected to address one another by our surnames, reinforcing the Are You Being Served vibe (I don’t think I have been called Miss Sinclair since – and it was always Miss or Mrs, never Ms).

It gave me a crash course in crazy customers: from ‘sandal man’, the foot fetishist who would salivate over our strappy sandal wearing window dresser as she did the windows, and stare at the feet of any woman he was talking to with a lascivious expression. After my arrival, whenever he came in, the staff sent me to serve him, since he took one look at my Doc Martens and walked away, disappointed.

Then there was map man, who used to come into the map department, unfold a map and examine it at close proximity while vigorously rubbing his luxurious head of hair.

It was here I learned that customers expect you to be able to find ‘that blue book’, can’t understand why a book that just came out in hardback can’t be bought in paperback, or can get snotty about you not having any of Shakespeare’s novels in stock (“You have all of his plays!”).

But it was also here I learned the pleasures of actually being able to help people find a book they would love; a task that, without computerised records – we did our stock taking in paper catalogues and relied on memory a lot – wasn’t easy. I am still proud of the fact I somehow figured out “that book with the man on the cover” was The Once and Future King.

It was also here I met a girl who became one of my closest friends, Sarah from Caution Spoilers. I was drawn to her because I thought she was cooler than me (these days she jets off to Cannes, so turns out I was right), and we proved we were proper rebels by calling one another by our first names. In such fires friendships are moulded…