Spies and pies

My return to Stockton on the 52 embraced a ringside view of a bout of I Spy which though playful looked set to turn nasty at any time from the point where one of the combatants issued the challenge ' Blue doesn't count it's just a colour' . Then after a brief stop for a pasty it was time to head south to a Thornaby with sadly no wifi and only the soliloquy of a pension casualty from the fall of Head Wrightson for entertainment. As we inched past the stranded vehicles marooned in their castlegate berths my existence on the cosmos was confirmed when my gaze was met by a woman and then a man grazing on bacon buns from the islands where the taxis once reigned