It was good to see the old Tyneside spirit preserved in the new Baltic: luckily the bullet-proof glass of Alec's studio muted the sound of Norman Foster gnawing carpet. Fruit was served before the performances and drink, conversation and discussion in the bar afterwards. Next morning a mysterious hand offered Tommy the "drink me" and he was transported to Tynemouth, on the rocks between the sea and the local Mount Rushmore. Back at the Baltic a carton of found poems had arrived.
