This 2018 sculpture on the seafront at Seaton Carew is by Stuart Langley. The sea glass used in the sculpture was collected and donated by local children.

The artwork is supposed to draw a connection between the ‘waves’ of the sea and the ‘waves’ of industrial, social and cultural change that are all around us. I’m not convinced I’d have guessed that. The art work’s local nickname, ‘the airwick’, feels more apt to me… but it’s nice to see something a bit different.

This corn mill was built in the early 1800s of local limestone. It was badly damaged in a storm in 1870, and probably didn’t return to use after that. It was further damaged in the First World War when it was used for target practice—what use a ruined old mill anyway?—but it was patched up by the Council in 1992.

You know how much I like to give you a little bit extra in these posts, often sourced from historical newspapers… but I’m struggling on this one. I can, however, share that the Shields Gazette had a whole feature on the ‘Cleadon Big Cat’ which was apparently spotted near the mill in 1999. An anonymous man’s wife told journalist Iain Smith, “He used to always take the family labrador out for a walk and he knows what a dog looks like but he was certain it was not a dog, it was a big cat. There’s definitely something up there.’

I’m pleased to report that I didn’t spot any big cats on my wander past.

I said a few years ago that I think Paris is at its best on crisp, sun-drenched winter days. I reflected this week that Newcastle is pretty good under those same conditions… and unlike during that trip to Paris, the ice on Newcastle’s pavements hasn’t swiped my feet from under me (yet).

I’ve never previously considered that for people who are into the Christian traditions of Christmas, there’s a conflict at this time of year. You neither approve of decorations before the start of Advent nor approve of representations of the birth of Jesus being omitted.

So when retailers stick up their decorations early, which principle do you sacrifice first? The Metrocentre chose the former (along with a very feminine representation of Gabriel and a Mary who looks older than you’d imagine). I’d probably have made the same decision.

I find it difficult to look at a nativity scene these days without thinking ‘where was the poor kid’s mother?’

If you’re not already scintillated enough, walk exactly 1km east along Redcar seafront from Sinterlation and you’ll happen upon Lifelines, another 2013 Ian Randall sculpture celebrating local heritage. It symbolises fishing boats being pulled back to shore.

The two make a nice, inoffensive pair.

Installed on Redcar seafront in 2013, this is Sinterlation, a sculpture which references the town’s fishing history (the boats which form the bottom of the columns) and its historic steelmaking (the chains). The non-standard spelling references sinter, a mixture of iron ore, limestone and coke which is used to feed a blast furnace.

It’s a perfectly nice, if forgettable, bit of civic sculpture which brightens up the place, but I’m not moved to any strong feelings.

I recently walked past this sculpture next to London’s ExCel exhibiton centre and thought, “that’s new!”

It’s not, though. It’s been there since 2009. I evidently walk round with my eyes closed.

The sculpture shows three dock workers, and was the result of a long campaign supported by the Queen Mother, among others, to commemorate the people who worked at the docks between 1855 and 1983. The figures are based on the likenesses of real dock workers, including Johnny Ringwood who helped raise money for it. Now aged 89, he re-visited the statue earlier this year.

The bloke with the hat and the book is Patrick Holland, depitcted as a tally clerk but in reality a stevedore, a word I last thought about in April 2021.

The scene is loosely copied in Mychael Barratt’s Mile End Mural.

For the sake of everyone involved, I think I’m better off giving blood than wearing spandex.

These two giant chairs, by Yinka Ilori, are currently on display next to the Royal Victoria Dock. One represents happiness and the other pride, though the fact that I can’t tell which is which is perhaps a marker of their limited success.