King's Lynn Conservancy Board

Surely if history had a sound track it would be flooded with the sound of stable doors being slammed after the horse has bolted and is clip-clopping merrily down the cobbled street. So with a weary sigh let me tell you how the King's Lynn Conservancy Board came about. In eighteen hundred and eighty nine a cargo ship, the Wick Bay, ran aground and broke her back outside King's Lynn port. Not an unheard off event in UK waters but for the Corporation of the town of King's Lynn a financial disaster since it had ownership of the port and was held legally responsible for maintaining the waterways and had to pay the expense of removing the wreck. So a few years later the KL Conservancy Board was set up to manage the port, the marker buoys and eventually the pilotage. The Board is entirely funded from fees and receives no public funds. I don't often get to say that Hull was ahead of the curve but it has had pilots in charge of shipping since the days of Henry VIII (see this for example). Here on Common Staith Quay they built themselves a fancy office in a throwback Georgian style (it was late 1890s after all not late 1790s) and look-out tower that does the job. 

The pilots do a magnificent job of getting ships that are way too big through a dock entrance that is way too narrow without scraping the paintwork. Here's an interesting blog post I came across while performing due diligence for this post.

The Corn Exchange, Tuesday Market Place, King's Lynn

I've shown the Corn Exchange on the Tuesday Market Place before. I think it's worth another show. Whether you agree or not here's three more glimpses of the place and its surroundings. These were taken early morning so there's no traffic about, there's usually some drivers going round this place, so keep your wits about you...

 

This one gives the game away, it's now a fancy façade to a plain, modern rear. Still it keeps in business so long as the Fat Controller doesn't get any more crazy ideas. (We await the next Presidential announcement tomorrow, or rather those that care await it. I've given up and moved on).

The Weekend in Black and White is here.

Palm Paper Factory, King's Lynn

Earlier this year I posted that this place was a sugar beet factory. Well I was just showing my age and my ignorance. There was a sugar factory here many years ago when I first came to this land (early 1980s) seems it closed mid-1990s. Now it's this magnificent, steamy place. This I read has the "world's widest, largest and most powerful newsprint machine in the world" and to show you just how whoopy big that is I read that it can produce 2000 metres of 10.3 metre wide newsprint every minute, that's ample space for a lot of lies I think you'll agree.

There are in fact two bridges across the Great Ouse in this picture, the front is for local traffic to and from West Lynn, the rear one carries the A47 road which goes from Birmingham to Great Yarmouth (and back again) should you wish.

The Bentinck, Loke Road, King's Lynn

Lord William George Frederick Cavendish-Scott-Bentinck, or George to his pals, was the member of Parliament for King's Lynn for twenty years or so until his death (from apoplexy) at the age of 46 in 1848. He was a mate of Disraeli, lending him money and opposing the repeal of the Corn Laws and later getting rid of Peel thus making his man, Dizzy, PM. I still don't see how a Lord could sit in the Commons but those were different times ... There's a Bentinck Dock around the corner and this pub to continue the name. I'm happy to see the place still open and, as the sign says, under new management. The last time I was in there was near forty years ago to buy a bottle of sherry, or rather get an empty sherry bottle refilled from a porcelain barrel of sweet sticky alcohol that had probably never been near to Jerez or even Spain. This view is along Lansdowne Street towards Loke Road.

Vancouver Quarter, King's Lynn

It would be wrong to give the impression that King's Lynn is all ancient buildings and scenic riverside views. At its heart is this modern offering; straight from the Mary Baker City Mix, instant-town-centre out-of-a-packet and microwave in minutes. The Vancouver Quarter could be anywhere today, goes without saying it's bland, out of scale, the stores are those found in all towns with exactly the same layout, same offers, same, same, same...I won't say I dislike it, there's nothing tangible to dislike, it's just a big inoffensive nothing wrapped in bricks and plate glass, a bit like a urinal, you go, you do the business and leave and think no more of it ... It has messed with centuries of streetscape; so much that folk born just decades ago can longer find their way around their own old town. Still what's lost, is lost and gone forever, no use pining for the past and they were just old streets with crumbling buildings  and well past their sell-by date (and who needs trees? and character? They don't begin to pay the rent on the space) and all this is absolutely essential for modern retailing or was until the internet and Covid-19 nonsense made it somewhat less vital and the cancer of vacant lots is starting to show. 

Smoothing the curve

 

This is looking north along the river towards the Alexandra dock in Lynn.

And this is the first time I've used (and not through choice; it was foisted on me) the new Blogger user interface. I must say I like the photo size adjuster with more options than small, big and enormous and out of sight; the rest seems like change for change sake, annoying but not life threatening.

I'd like to say I was professional and spent an age lining up this and that but nah it's just a click and ooh look they all kinda meet up nice; sometimes it just happens.

The Church of All Saints, Hillington Square, King's Lynn

This little church is not much spoken of in the tourist bumpf, we hear loads about St Margaret's church and St Nicholas chapel but it was only a few months ago I came across a mention of the ancient church of All Saints, tucked away to the south of the town. Odd because it's the oldest church in town originating in the 11th century or possibly earlier. It describes itself as "a hidden pearl" and with centuries of accretions it has a certain barroco appearance. A sign informs the visitor that "the tower collapsed in 1768", I'm at a loss to know where a tower could be fitted in but that's not my problem. I visited early in the morning so it was closed but visitors are welcome if you contact before hand and I've since found it's open on Saturdays  but maybe check before you go. Anyhow I'll post an anticlockwise tour starting at the west end.

This little window/niche and statue seem to have been added since the mid 19th century as an engraving shows a sundial over the doorway.

This is the view from Church Lane, the iron gates are pretty useless since there are no walls apart from these little bits.

The two windowed annex above is (or was), I'm reliably informed an anchor-hold, a room set to the side of the church where an anchoress (think Julian of Norwich) would seal themselves in and live a life of religious contemplation there's a tiny window inside with a view of the altar. This is considered a rare feature being on the north side of the church as most were on the south (warmer) side and also most have also been lost to demolition (the reformation did away with this kind of thing). You can see it has been added to over the years and it's now obstructing the window of the church.

Another odd feature is the lack of a church wall surrounding the church yard, it is surrounded by 60-70s social housing giving a quiet, peaceful almost cloistered feeling.

As idle as a painted ship

Here's an old barge marooned in the silt of the Boal Quay which has attracted the attentions of local painters and decorators and become really quite colourful, almost as colourful as the character it is named after, Tosca. A little research, like a little learning, is a dangerous thing so for what it's worth I can say that this area was a loop of the river Nar which emptied into the Great Ouse at the far end; changes to sluices and other works mean that it no longer flows around here hence the silting and 'nature' moving in. Some tidal water does reach in giving councils the excuse to erect signs warning of danger but it wasn't that that stopped me from going further to explore, no sir, it was inadequate footwear, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Tosca is apparently not the only boat lost in this gloopy greenery, a local historical site informs of others lost over time in the mire.

... and those menacing clouds duly emptied themselves on our heads soon after making us seek cover.

The Whitefriars Gate, King's Lynn

Hull has its Whitefriargate here in King's Lynn between terraced houses and a silted up quay is the Whitefriars Gate. It's the last vestige of a Carmelite Friary at the southern end of Lynn. A little sign around the back tells us the following "Gateway of the Carmelite Friary which from before 1260 until 1538 occupied a precinct to the south-east. Here lived Friar Aleyn, writer of 'The Book of Margery Kempe' the earliest biography in the English Language, c1436-40." This little jewel has survived the dissolution of the monasteries, sale to Lynn corporation, demolition of walls surrounding, demolition of later buildings abutting it and now stands in splendid isolation overlooking a car park.

I found an interesting blog post on this monument here.

Shibboleths

I saw a vile thing in a charity in King's Lynn; a face mask pouch. Yes a wee bag to pop your lung excreta soaked rag into after signalling far and wide your belonging to the "good guys gang", your  virtue and how much your really care. Ew! Anyhow here we have the equivalent of the Build-a-bear idea, the entrepreneurial drive may have been biffed around the snotty noggin by the Fat Controller but it is far from dead and still knows no depths too deep to sink.

This desperate advert cum ripped up don't- quite-know-what is just plain barmy. 99.95% survived and most of those that didn't were not long for this world and almost none died of Covid-19 alone. They make it seem like some epic struggled, the only danger was and remains the crazed politicians. 

And on the subject of being political I was upbraided by someone for being too political; this is not the spirit, I was told, of City Daily Photo (all praise and hallelujah!). This was after the said person had posted about the Mayor of her town and the state governor, yes she was American; how could you tell? Hmm I wonder where the word politics comes from; could it be the ancient Greek word for city πόλις I think it could well be. Cities are political entities, politics is at their heart, the pretty buildings, the nice parks, the artful riverside walks all come about by political power.

By the Millfleet, King's Lynn

As I mentioned in yesterday's somewhat rambling post I have been in King's Lynn for a few days and naturally took several gigabytes of photos. More to come over the next few days.

Blame it on the Covid

In the ground, in the ground, in the ground

Oh bury me deep in the ground,

I died of the 'rona and double pneumonia

So bury me deep in the ground

City Daily Photo has, it seems, a theme of "Your response to Covid-19" for this month of October. Covid-19! ... I know, I know, the great yawn inducer of 2020 ... October already how time flies in lockdown with anti-social distancing. My response to this year's seasonal respiratory infection, which has for some reason been given a name (Covid-19) and the sort of mass media coverage normally reserved for world wars, has been not to catch it and to ignore all the rules, guidelines, social distancing, lockdowns, hey-downs, ho-downs, derry derry downs etc that have issued forth like so many shots in the dark from a drunken blind gunman... I know there's been a lot of it about (as doctors used to say when you could go to see them) earlier on but I haven't had a sniffle, indeed never been healthier thank you for asking (I know you care). 

...but then such in depth coverage of the many celebrity colds that have featured in what passes for news these days. I hear even The Orange Donald has a wee snotty nose, a fever and gone to bed early with a glass of honeyed tea; well he would wouldn't he; anyone who is anyone has had this danger bug ... including Alexander de Pfeffel aka the Fat Controller who had it earlier this year but you know the social media motto "pics or it never" ... all these colds, fevers and coughs like it had never, ever happened before.

But that was my response I've expressed before nothing new here but what am I to make of  yours? Well never have I seen so much mass hysterical overreaction to a winter sniffle; you lot have, it seems, been making boldly for the Kool Aid and fallen for the necro-hype. Fear is stalking your febrile minds. You seem to want to be ordered (or mandated as the Americans euphemistically put it) to cover your ugly faces with a magical piece of rag the which will stop you passing it on to others and others passing it on to you. (Yet when this measure was introduced here "cases" rose seemingly in defiance of the politicians and continue to "rise" as testing continues to rise... draw your own conclusions) Strangely you lot seem to live on through this mass slaughter as deaths remain stubbornly near to zero as can be, indeed ten times as many of you are passing away with flu right now and nothing, not a damn thing is being done about that... And what kind of a dumbass is it that takes health advice from  lying, no good, ignorant, bullshitting politicians drunk on control freakery??? ... seems the world is full of numptified hoopleheads.  Still as I have said many times here and elsewhere à chacun son goût and you push your own handcart to that warm inferno ...

This is a little late (it's just back-dated) as I've been away to Norfolk and left all my computing stuff behind me, bliss was it in that dawn to be alive ...

Well may the world go

 

Well may the world go
The world go, the world go
Well may the world go
When I'm far away

 

Was it Saturday? yes it looks like it was Saturday that the Government once again bought all the national papers (the free press, at our expense) and had them print a four page puff piece to get the sheep and camels of the UK to put upon their dumbass phones a device, an App, nay the sacred, long awaited saviour of humanity App, the App of Apps. This collection of machine code is going to lead them to the promised land, freedom, free at last, free at last, etc, etc ...

Only you know that war is peace and freedom is eternal surveillance and subjugation. This thing tracks you around (if  you let it), you'll need it to scan a code (QR? I wasn't paying too much attention)  to gain entry to restaurants and pubs and museums and art galleries and your granny's front door (but granny can't let you in oh no ...) and soon your own bathroom. It is supposed to allow you to scan your Covid-19 test ( yes do have one regularly (only £150 a pop and discretely sent your home in brown packaging ...) to save your loved ones and save the NHS! All praise the NHS!) but this is a farcical quasi-fascist regime and only tests from private outlets that is to say not the NHS (all praise!, and peace be upon it! ) can be entered... so the vast majority of users cannot show that they are negative but this is surely a mere technical glitch, an "innocent" oversight, that will be cleared by the Fat Controller as soon as he can.

By Sunday, that is within 48 hours of its release I read that 10 million and more had obeyed the Fat Controller and tied themselves into this comic prattery. There is, as they say, nowt so queer as folk.

The FC is finding that his bizarre controls and excessive testing are running against each other. More controls, more testing, more positives (80-90% false positives but he don't care he's too dumb to know what a false positive is or maybe he knows that the test is utterly meaningless it matters not ... ), each positive is, of course, a "case" and is a potential near-death experience and a place in intensive care , and so pressure on the NHS (sing its praises, hallelujah!), and so on ... well each "case" now will have to self-isolate for 7 or 14 days (again I'm not too attentive to the copious steaming farmyard stuff emanating from the FC and his crazy gauleiters ) on pain of fines AND they threaten to check up on you with policemen calling round (yeah right like that's going to happen). And the rule of six thingy is in force, and folk are ratting on their neighbours like it's East Germany in the 1950s and the Stasi have put Pentothal in the water supply. The place is gone to hell nicely, unemployment about to rise steeply, students locked in their halls of residence and forbidden to go home at weekends or Christmas (It was a three week lockdown back in March, three weeks to save the NHS! (all praise yada yada) now it's just repression for repression's sake each step further away from a "return to normality". Normality, like the  Nietszchean God is dead and we killed it, the first victim of this pestilence, there will not be, cannot be, a return to normal... stop dreaming about it, ain't gonna happen), companies facing closure are desperate that their employees leave their smart phones at home lest they be shut down if a staff member catches a sniffle and tests positive ... Let the good times roll!

 

...and all for a little biddy cold virus that's been and gone taken its crop of the frail and aged and sunk back into the viral underfroth like all previous seasonal respiratory infections. 

 

Well I'm off now you'll be glad to hear. There may be lockdowns ahead, pretty sure there will be more impositions and crass inanities, the only things that are growing exponentially are the Government's manic repressions and the desire of folk to be punished for their sins. As for me, I cannot be separated from my freedom while I still breathe so it's the old two finger salute to the lot of it. Catch you (and your colds) later, maybe.

 

Sweet may the breezes blow
Clear may the streams flow
Blue above, green below
When I'm far away

 

 

 

This is all your fault

You know the story of King Canute (or Cnut if you wish, maybe even Knut ), he that sat by the sea shore and told the tide not to rise and was soaked for his troubles. The story as was told to me in my childhood was that Cnut (I think I prefer that) was so proud that he thought he could stop the sea but had to be given a lesson. Later I learned that the story was that Knut (prefer Cnut) wanted to show his obsequious courtiers that he was not some divine majesty and only a mere mortal so he set himself up for a foot bath. Either way, the moral of the story, to labour it for those at back of the room not listening; time and tide wait for no man or so the story goes ...

Why am I prattling like this? Well the modern Cnuts have set themselves up by the tide of Humber to raise once again the barriers to watery ingress and we can no longer pass or indeed repass along this Queen's highway as there's barriers erected and piles of what can only be called stuff heaped up on Nelson Street.

I think the plan is to extend the waterfront by a few yards and raise the tout ensemble to prevent tidal flooding to thousands of properties. There's a poster thingy to explain the plan but I think I'll wait until it's all done and the concrete set and we've had a surge tide or three before commenting.

Now I'm not one to guilt trip anyone but all this is because it is thought that sea levels will rise because you turned on your computer and read this drivel (it's all your fault didn't you know, everything is your damn fault, racism, Covid-19, inflation, deflation, ageing population (how dare you live so long?), rising birth rate, falling birth rate, STDs, white supremacy, alleged global warming, the next ice age, pedophilia and pornography, Donald Trump, face masks, unemployment, world war, famine & Brexit, pestilence, you name it ... all down to you and you alone). How could you let this happen?

Progress Report

Do you remember May? In particular Sunday, May 3, just this year? No, me neither but it seems I posted about the sudden, to me, appearance of a construction site on what had been flower filled waste ground. If you compare the barebones structure of that post to this wonderful glassy prospect (ouch nearly bit my tongue, there) then clearly some progress has been made at least with this delightful building.

As for the other matter mentioned back then some five months down the line things seem to be going backwards if anything. Stupid folk will do stupid things and be afraid of their own shadow if you tell them often enough that it will bite them. 

A little rusty

One thing we don't get in England is tumbleweed but perhaps a ball or two wistfully drifting across this scene might be appropriate here and maybe a plangent steel guitar blues riff to go with.

The rumour mill is saying a second lockdown is just what the country needs as the first one worked so splendidly well. I, of course, will ignore it like the first; I have no time for conneries as the French have it. The world and his wife can go play at medieval doctors and nurses; frankly I don't care, it's true I do not care. You can all go to hell and take your handcart with you.

Let's take a pew

Sometimes, don't you think,  it's nice to just sit and reminisce and get away from the stupidity of the day... Now let me see ...the one on the left resembles a former Labour MP who, whilst elected and sitting in the Commons, had part-time jobs as correspondent for the Guardian and the Spectator, a weekly column of gossip and tales in what he no doubt considered a humorous vein, all with that nauseating patronising flat Yorkshire working class "common sense" voicing. The guy as I recall went to Hull University, his dog, notoriously, chased and caught and killed a goose in a park. Anyhow this fine example of how grammar schools elevate folk spent his whole political life in a party that wanted to abolish grammar schools. (For the record and to show my bias I too went to a grammar school which was abolished, abolishing grammar schools ruined the education of thousands, improved the education of none and sank our standards down to medieval times, there; is that clear enough for you? To be fair though it was Mrs Thatcher and not Labour who abolished Grammar schools perhaps history should be spelled IRONY, you do know that Labour PM Wilson closed more coal mines than Thatcher but that's old irony and water under the bridge...). where was I? Yes back to our cherub cheeked friend, I recall he had a tendency to dribble as elderly folk sometimes do (or did, since no dribbler would be allowed on the media these days). I suppose he imagined he was doing good works, they always do, his sort. He was Old Labour, a schemer in the days of smoke filled rooms and deals done behind people's back between over powerful and undemocratic (dare I say corrupt?) Trades Unions and scared Governments. In his days he was considered right wing by those who considered themselves on the left; in reality the chicken had no wings and couldn't fly, was plucked and heading for the oven. When Blair came along he moaned from the left as Blair, well Blair was in different playground altogether (and playing a different game) ... He also said that he would never take a peerage (that, for those from foreign parts, is appointment to our unelected second legislative chamber, the Lords) but you know how the tide turns and inevitably he took the ermine and became a baron (Don't you love how progressive this country is: from snotty kid in Sheffield to a baron of somewhere in Birmingham, you see the system works!) I just can't remember his name what was it now ? Let me look him up ... Oh Yes, I remember now; Roy Hattersley (Lord Roy of Sparkbrook, that's it) and Buster was his dog. Strange how the memory brings up a complete nobody from the past ... is that the smell of madeleines? Time for some tea and cake I think, shall I pour dear, one lump or two? Do you think it will rain?

Here's two figures carved onto the seating of Holy Trinity in Hull, their appearance, though somewhat grotesque, is nowhere near as twisted as today's reality or indeed the fading memory of our youth.

Regeln om sex

Her most excellent Britannic Majesty's Government regularly astounds us all with its sagacity and fleetness of foot in reacting to changing circumstances. Once again when faced with a death rate of near zero from its very own Covid19 epidemic it cleverly instituted a system of testing. It would do 100,000 tests a day, it boasted, and sure enough it took 100,000 snotty samples a day. (Hoorah and God save the Queen!) Then noticing that these some of these tests came back positive (as they would even if there was no virus left in the world) it claimed, no, stated as fact, there was an increase in the infection rate and certain towns would have to be put back into lockdown (Boo, Hiss and why don't fules obey the guidelines?).
Then seeing that the restaurant trade was as near to dead as can be it brought in a 50% off voucher scheme to get folk to eat out then moaned when folk went out and enjoyed the discount... (Hoorah! no, no sorry not Hoorrah!  hush with the Hoorahs...) There were other clever moves but you want get to the sex.
So of course the testing goes on, relentlessly on. (Today I heard that vast numbers of samples will never even make it to the "testing" stage and have simply been binned, the system is creaking, cracking and about to break under the strain) ...and the testing still tells a tale of increasing positives (OoooooH *scarey noise* but as I keep saying the hospitals are strangely empty ...hmmm.) So now there's to be instituted the brilliant Rule of Sex, a device so fantastic it defies criticism. From Monday (and not before) you cannot have sex with more than six people in a house or in any social gathering, I think that's how it goes, like all the guidelines this seems fair and reasonable to me and, speaking personally, won't be too much of a hardship to endure. I might, very easily be confused on this and have got the wrong end of the stick, my hearing's not what it used to be. Anyway ... Take that Sars-Cov-2, you dastardly fiend! Beep, beep now ... and keep a stiff upper something, lip , yeah lip.
And how will this be enforced, do I hear you ask, do you even care (frankly I've given up, gone home and am phoning this in) ...  because even Her most excellent Britannic whatsit  has noticed a slackening in enthusiasm (nay outright mockery, shame! will no-one take this seriously?) for its imposed ordinances. Answer came there: Covid Marshalls! Yup brilliant, garner a posse of neighbourhood Stasi wannabes (at £10/hour) to go round and check up that the Rule of Sex is being applied. I think I'll apply, I've always had a hankering for sticking my nose in other people's business and telling them that whatever they're doing they should stop. Yes I see a smart career change opening up before me... I just need to get myself a stab proof vest off eBay.

But, seriously, anyone wishing to have their say on the Covid19  and issues pertaining should take half an hour out of their busy lives to look at this brilliant video and consider that the epidemic was a normal event, was not particularly severe, is well and truly over and we are being pushed around by a despotic bunch of thugs using a 'casedemic' as an excuse. The insane rule of six is just a device to stop political action, to prevent gatherings of discontent. We should fly up and teach them manners.

... and the crane? is just a crane in Cottingham, a device to lure you into lurid tales of depravity. The Swedish title is a hat tip to a country that did not follow the madness, suffered the same as everyone, but is now moving on or so we are told ... nah scrub that it was silly ruse to get sex in the headline.

Moments in time

Paragon station clock seemed to be offering a couple of options, it's always nice to have a choice even if neither one was right.