Under Threat

 

Ah so there's our old friend Mankind Under Threat squatting in the belated May sunshine all safe and sound now betwixt the City Treasury and the Guildhall. I wondered where he'd gone to. I suppose, technically, he's on public display but so far off any beaten track no visitor to Hull would come across him by accident. Unlike the old place in Queen's Gardens this site is hardly conducive to the contemplation of mankind being under threat. The threat to our friend here is clear: pointlessness and obscurity. He has already become a mere decoration. There are plans to secure this area with gates (the slim to non-existent terrorist threat to Councillors and council staff must be taken seriously ... and a quarter million pounds is the serious money that must be spent to take it seriously). Anyhow once the gates are built our caged friend will be even more secure and even more out of reach.

Bring back the birch

The birch is a pioneering tree, so I'm told, spreading rapidly and colonising clearings and waste lands. It is short lived (if 80-100 years can be called short lived) and makes way for longer lived species such as oak and pine. I don't expect to be around for that development but we plant trees for future generations to enjoy or so they say. There are signs around town telling us "Change is happening"; how true that is.

So to the building itself, well, what can I say? It's a bit fancy and somewhat overdressed for the surroundings the now closed M&S to one side and a hideous brick thing (also, as is the style on Whitefriargate, unoccupied) to the other. Nowadays it's a butcher's shop, or rather a purveyor of meats since I doubt any actual butchery takes place there and everything is wrapped in sealed plastic and looks like it came out of a box rather than a grazing animal... A minute's research reveals the place was originally a public house (yes, yet another ornate Victorian boozer) built in 1884 (the boom years for Hull) with alterations to the ground floor which are so dull they need not detain us.

Mea maxima culpa

                 
                           "The Philistines were Wrong: Culture can bring a city back to life"
                                                                                       Richard Morrison, The Times

I noticed how vibrant Whitefriargate had become as I wandered down there on a rainy day last week. It was like the old times, only seen in those black and white films of smiling folk in fifties coats and suits all wearing hats trying not to look at the camera but somehow failing ... and the sun always shining. The sound of thousands of happy shoppers thronging the revitalised stores and small shops near deafened me and I had to struggle through the milling crowds as they ambled slowly along to the rattle of filling tills ... I was wrong, I thought, I lacked faith, with a little bit of imagination, Culture really can bring a city back to life.

And this, this is just fake news, I wouldn't pay it any mind.

The Larkin Spectacle

... and speaking of old Pip Larkin, as we were, his statue in Paragon Station has caught the attention of those who would reshape the world they see before them. Maybe he should have gone to Specsavers ...

The large cool store is closed ...

Last Saturday (May 4^th) Marks and Spencer on Whitefriargate closed after nearly ninety years of selling "cheap clothes/ Set out in simple sizes plainly/ (Knitwear, Summer Casuals, Hose,/ In Browns and greys, maroons and navy)". Truth is that M&S has been on its way out since well before old Larkin went to the inevitable. There were rumours that the store was somehow bribed not to leave Whitefriargate when St Stephens was built a decade ago. Whatever the truth the customers no longer "leave at dawn low terraced houses/ Timed for factory, yard and site" and haven't done so for generations. I haven't bought anything from M&S this century, certainly no clothing ever. Their food store became pretentious and much parodied (This is not just tosh; this is M&S  tosh ...)

 

Perhaps, though, it's not too late for a blue plaque commemorating Larkin buying his kecks at Markies ...oh,  and writing "a silly poem about nighties" .

The building with its classical columns and bronzed shop front was designed by Jones & Rigby in 1931~ish when M&S were in competition with Woolworths not only for sales but in shop design. Woolies (always a much cheaper store in price and attitude than M&S) went to that great administrator in the sky eleven years ago during the 2008 evenements. There's a wee Viking boat on the top which I've shown before but a second look won't kill you.

Those who seek more about the architectural history of Marks and Spencer's  stores could do worse than take a peek at this link.

SOMETHING must be done ... but what?

This collection of 15000 plastic bottles (Tilly the Turtle, the happiest turtle in the world) was on display at the University last year, (Septemberish if I recall rightly and to go with the British Science conference). The message was simple, the seas, beaches and all open spaces are being filled with plastic garbage and, it goes without saying these days, SOMETHING must be done about it. So there's a sweet little "Plastic Pledge" (redolent of the days of temperance when the evil drink was going to ruin civilisation) where folk forswear to use plastic anything (cups, drinking straws (haven't used a straw since I could hold a bottle and drink out of it), shopping bags... well, you get the picture) and if they must then they will reuse it until it turns to dust and then they will recycle (or quite possibly eat) the dust... (Recycling plastic produces microbeads which are quite possibly even more insidious but we don't want to spoil the flow...) You have to admire young folk, so full of enthusiasm, so easily led to despair over their own futures.

The other day the Scottish Government (that is what it calls itself)  introduced plans for a 20p a bottle refund scheme and it can only be a matter of time before the UK Government does likewise. They have after all to be seen to be doing SOMETHING even if that SOMETHING is horribly expensive and quite insignificant compared to local council's own bin collection and recycling schemes. A scheme to reduce single use plastic bags by charging did reduce them considerably but now so-called "bags-for-life" which cost more and are supposed to be re-used are becoming as big as problem as before as folk, being folk, just forget to re-use them. 

So, then, I think everyone is agreed we must do SOMETHING ... now, moving onto the next item on the agenda ...

Déjà vu in black and white

Surely, says meself to meself, I've shown a barge going up the river before and to be sure this very selfsame little boat, sorry ship, Swinderby, was posted way back when life was all so simple. And as is the way of things when you poke at them I find yet another barge doing the upstream adventure. In my defence I like the clouds and the mud in this picture ... and it was taken sometime back and if I don't post it now I never will.

I know it's only Wednesday but The Weekend in Black and White is here.

You are HSBC.

Ironically this corporate BS from HSBC (stuffed with idiotic clichés from the dark days of the City of Culture) is no more than seventy yards from the branch it closed down just a couple of years ago; and it is  not even in Hull ... and it's oh so tasteful; diving off the Humber Bridge has become a way out of Hull for a few desperate folks lately.

Similar diversions from the criminal nature of HSBC are being pasted all over the country with equally emetic, gobshite being proclaimed. They are said to be too big to fail and might be too big to jail but do we really have to put up with this patronising garbage? Can we not have a little truth? Maybe something like ...

More than just the local bank ... you are the rancid stench something far, far bigger. You are the go-to guys for the drug cartels, terrorists, murderers and embezzlers. You're not an island, you conspire globally in Ponzis, rigging markets, tax evasion, fraud, foreign exchange manipulation ...you "violated every goddamn law in the book". You are HSBC.

(The "violated every goddamn law ..." quote is from Jack Blum, attorney and former Senate investigator.)

Democracy in action

Voting yesterday for two local county councillors and two parish councillors. We get to do this every three or four years I'm not sure which. It really makes very little difference which monkey sits on the Council; I think the old Athenian sortition or selection by lot would do as well but in these enlightened times we must have universal suffrage so voting it is ... The result? Well, for the very few that care, the Tories won  (they always do) but Labour were wiped out completely for the first time ever (serves them right). 

In three weeks time we go at it again, this time for the European Parliament. You'll recall the result of the referendum on this tedious EU issue so the prospect voting for something the majority do not want to even be in has brought out the "Brexit Party" once again to "put the fear of God" into the mired political status quo. (I shall vote for them, there is no logical reason not to). Let the good times roll ... sorry, I meant to say let the people decide ...

Burnt 'umber

"This must be Thursday.  I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
                                      Douglas Adams  The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Now here's an odd thing to do with memory and and all that jazz. I clearly remember coming home from school at lunchtime and listening to the Hitchhiker's Guide on the radio at home with my mother. But as it was first aired in 1978 and I was 21 and living in the Big Smoke by then this could not possibly have happened... I much prefer the memory to the fact ...

Honesty

Lunaria annua

Being the sort of gardener that likes to let things sort themselves out, (no point in fooling with Nature because, as someone once said, Nature cannot be fooled) I find a lot of these nice purple flowers cropping up in all sorts of places at this time of year. The well tempered cultivator might well call them weeds but I call them welcome additions to my small patch of land. You might not recognise the flowers but I'm pretty sure you'll have seen the transparent seed heads in floral displays. There's also a white variety and even a pinkish one but today, being the first of the month, is all about purple.

Honesty is the English name for this plant but other cultures have a more mercenary name, money plant, silver dollars, Judas coins and (my  favourite) La monnaie du pape being just a few choice alternatives. Botanists call it Lunaria annua despite it being a biennial ... whatever its name if you just leave it alone it'll settle in nicely, my kind of plant.

And honesty being best policy means that I must own that Margot Juby took these pictures.

Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit...

Here again , like a giant game of bar skittles, are more of the wind turbine towers  under construction over in the eastern docks. Last weekend (was it Easter weekend? I don't do religion or Bank Holidays ... anyhow it was warm and windy ...) this country burnt no coal to power the national grid for over 90 hours, coal being a big nasty smelly troll that kills future generations of pig-tailed Swedish children ... This achievement went practically unmentioned in the MSM while what can only be called a paid claque of middle class swivel eyed self-styled eco-protesters were gluing themselves to public transport and blocking off Westminster and the West End of London while the police colluded ( I almost wrote cuddled). I can report no MP was harmed in the making of this demonstration (Parliament was not sitting) though several made asses of themselves fawning over Pippi Longstocking and her doom saying utterances. The idiotic demands of these puritanical "activists" would push ordinary folk back to the stone age while they would just jet off to the next gig ... 

Meanwhile, in the real world, the world's largest off-shore wind farm quietly produced its first sparks of electricity in February all from this modest looking place in east Hull. Well done them!

Also, sans faire de bruit, I notice that Hull and Hereabouts has been going on about stuff for nine years ... what was I thinking?

The metaphysical bus company

To would-be passengers waiting in the bus station with no knowledge of the world outside (no doubt plugged into their phones for safe keeping from whatever reality might be) the arrival of their bus would appear an event occurring without any antecedent cause. "Oh look!", says Davey Hume, "There's my bus! See, I told you it was a logical possibility".

I believe Margot pressed the button on the camera which resulted in this image being formed by some process beyond my very limited ken.

The Weekend in Black and White is here.

Various Cranes

There are a few old warehouses left in the old town all converted into flats and/or restaurants/nightclubs and so on. These still have wall mounted cranes as a reminder that these buildings once had a different purpose. In my ignorance of things mechanical I was going to call these hoists but I find that a hoist just moves stuff up and down, while a crane moves the hoist around; but then you already knew that.
The robust no-nonsense one above is on 47 Queen Street and the light-weight fancy one below on the Posterngate warehouse I posted yesterday.

Those two are just puny tiddlers compared to this big red whopper close by the Museum Quarter.

Monogram

I've passed the old warehouse/nightclub at the end of Posterngate a zillion times give or take and never noticed this intricate monogram. I'm told it reads JP 1831. Someone will know who JP was and might care to inform me. I've even posted the warehouse years ago but perversely cropped out the monogram.

Gilles de Rais was Innocent, OK!

So not last Sunday but the one before that Ed (with the cap) and Dmitry visited to take even more footage of Margot for a short documentary. They chose to use the paddocks off Snuff Mill Lane which on a Sunday afternoon is dog walkers' rush hour. Film making may sound interesting but unless you're stuck behind the camera or making the decisions it's a just big drag so I walked off and left them to it. Which is a shame because on their way back they encountered some native youffs who entertained by "mooning" them so I'm told.

The reason for this tomfoolery is that Margot has written a book, The Martyrdom of Gilles de Rais, about how he was not the devil worshipping, child abusing, mass murderer of French history but rather a bit of a saintly patsy set up and used by the power players in 15th century Brittany. By going over the trial records in detail and asking simple questions (How can Gilles be in two places at once? and how did no-one notice a pile of bones/rotting cadavers lying around in a busy castle?) it is a brilliant and at many times humorous demolition job, nay polemic, on the long accepted 'historical' narrative, concocted mainly by a lazy French cleric and others who really ought to have known better, that bears scant or no relation to the records or indeed common sense ... I may be a bit biased but never forget: ... Gilles de Rais was Innocent, Ok!

And neither was he the inspiration for Bluebeard of folk and fairy tales as so many think. 

You can find out more about (and maybe buy) this book here. 

A touch of camera envy ...

They're smiling 'cos they're going home in one piece ...

Big Hidden Treasures

When they came to build on the farm known as West Bulls just to the west of the Hull/Cottingham boundary they arranged to leave a triangular patch of land about 500 sq yards between the houses to allow for service roads or ten foots as they are known in these parts. In so doing they left behind a pair  trees one much older than the other. I think they are beech trees but don't rely on me. Old maps from 1830s show a big tree at this position, the girth of the larger tree puts it at over three hundred years old ... And for the last ninety years or so they continued to grow, out of sight out of mind, giving home to countless generations of crows until one day not so very long ago some stupid oik(s) with a box of matches and no sense of the fine things in life set a fire to the younger of the pair doing considerable damage to the base. That tree was due to be cut down last year but somehow it has survived and is now putting out new leaves into the chilly April air. If this had been in Hull (which it ain't by a few yards) it would have been long gone. We'll see what East Riding of Yorkshire Council do about it. The trees are according to ERYC under tree protection orders.

C is for ... Carbuncle

C is for Capitalism,  

The bosses' reactionary creed,

                                                                                   Alex Glasgow Socialist ABC

Some may recall Burnett House, how it was restored from dereliction only to stand empty for years and then found not just tenants but a home for a lonely buddleia. It has come to pass that Burnett House now feels it needs to spread its wings with an extension. Fine you might say, the land adjacent has been empty for 40 years or more so build something in keeping with the old building and the low rise Georgian/Victorian neighbourhood, something that respects the area and the view of the medieval church behind. You might say that but the stupid Cs in Hull City Council only went and passed plans for the most hideous, oversized, out of proportion, disfiguring monstrosity. Well see for yourself ...

Image "borrowed" from the Hull Daily Mail

In times past I might have hinted that silver had crossed palms to enable this to go through but after being told, by a Councillor, that such an idea is preposterous I have to conclude the current Council planning numpties are dumb enough to think this is a good thing all by themselves and pat themselves on the back and cannot understand how they might be wrong. Consider how a planning officer, employed by the Council, could say, in advice to Councillors, that the proposal would "preserve the character and appearance of the Old Town Conservation Area and would not substantially harm the setting of Hull Minster".  Clearly such a person is not living  by the same aesthetic standards as mere taxpaying mortals. For the sake of the future appearance of this backwater might it not be a good idea to put the said planning officer out to pasture where he/she will not harm the setting of the town any further.

 

B is for B*****ks!

B's for the Boss who's a Bastard,
A Bourgeois who don't give a damn.

                                                                                              Alex Glasgow Socialist ABC

Today, April12, 2019 might have been (well, it was never really going to be since the bloody Commons took away the only bargaining weapon left; to leave without a deal.)  Brexit Day (Mk2). After a whole two years and more of bungtwaddle from our elected bellends the UK remains as firmly locked onto the Brussels' boobies as ever. We've had bilious backspang and bafflegab from those who treat the majority as something smelly on their boots. All this has left sensible folk somewhat bamsquabbled or bamblustercated if you prefer. It's all a load of buggery-boos, as my old dad would sometimes exclaim.

B-Day Mk3 is pencilled in for Hallowe'en ... no, seriously it is ... Booo!