Warped

If anyone bangs on about intelligent design being the way of the world just ask how the apex of the alleged Deity's plans, the most intelligent species on the planet can be brought low by something 80-120 nanometers in size. And what part that horrid little virion plays in any vast eternal plan? But that's enough theodicy for now. So in case you haven't guessed I've had and still have to some extent a version of influenza: could be the deadly Australian or the ever-so-polite Japanese or the entente filled French well whatever it was it was an absolute bugger. The past week has been one long semi-concious blur spent under a duvet surviving on soup, tea and easy-peel satsumas oh and regular doses of Paracetamol. Grrrrrr.

Today's picture is a reflection I caught at Cottingham station. If, like me, you see a sort of face in this image it's not a sign of warped mentality but of a "well wired brain" according to the Daily Mail. Pareidolia is, it appears, a good thing though I fail to see its place in intelligent design. If you don't see a face, of course, it means you have an even better wired brain, however if you regularly read and take the Daily Mail seriously I can't comment on your wiring ...

Anyhow back to the duvet and a cup of life saving tea ...

The Weekend Reflections are here.

I'm not driving

Rolled up in town late on Friday afternoon about 4pm but could tell something was up as the bus diverted and left us to get off on a side street. The reason was obvious; each street in town was filled with traffic going absolutely nowhere at all. I wonder if you ever played that game as a child where you had to move from place to place without touching the ground? We called it Pirates, you might have called it something else. Anyhow you could play Pirates all round town on the roofs of cars stretching from the river to Beverley Road and all other points west and east. And the reason so many hundreds of vehicles decided to use the centre of town ... someone decided to play with the Myton Bridge and oops, oh dear ... it broke down. Hmmm ...

The picture was taken last year on Spring Bank, another notorious bottle neck. It's a stretch of about one thousand yards and my personal record for rush hour slowness on here is twenty five minutes; that's a little over 1 mile per hour! Even I can walk quicker than that.

Work for idle hands

A while ago the local School of Art and Design teamed up with a bus company "to transform two double-decker buses into modern masterpieces".  Well here's one of those "masterpieces": a bus decorated with the hand prints of folk from the town. The other bus I'm told "features landmark buildings from across Hull and quote from the city's residents" but I can't say I've noticed it.

Small town blues

Hull City Council has had an epiphany; it has discovered what everyone else knew years ago that the town is a desert after 5pm. ( It's hardly the bustling metropolis before then but we'll keep with the story). So what does the Council do to address this? It creates something to look into it ... so a "special scrutiny review" has been set up to describe in full detail what we already know. But I can tell them now with no charge; Hull is not a city, cities never sleep; Hull is an over grown town that needs its eight hours ... so if you'll excuse me I'm off to my bed.

Puffins

Well it's not quite a beautiful mosaic (not even close) but for a public convenience in Bridlington this brickwork doesn't look too bad at all. OK it's a bit clunky but at least they tried, come on ... c'est seulement un pissoir ...

Paragon Plants

On the concourse of Hull's Paragon Station there's this odd thing, a plant stall. It's been there for as long as I can remember and sells an eclectic assortment of greens from cacti and carnivorous plants to pansies and petunias ... oh and pink flamingoes.

O where do we go now but nowhere

The final show, as it were, of the Year of Culture was a series of installations scattered about the town each consisting of several robotic arms that were supposed to move around with lights and sound (I believe the term 'music' may have been used, but it was basically just eerie noise). This junk was titled "Where Do We Go From Here?" and is described as a "thrilling mix of art and technology" ... the blurb continues "...At a time of political uncertainty at home and abroad, it also asks important questions: What kind of place do we want to live in? What role should culture play? Where do we go from here?" There's more (isn't there always?) "Where Do We Go From Here? , is a deliberate provocation designed to get individuals reflecting upon their city’s future. It invites everyone to take part in a timely conversation about art, culture and society." Yada, yada, yada ...

I came upon this very unmoving piece  as they were obviously fixing some kind of fault, so it wasn't working. However later I did cross paths with a different installation that was in full flow; the arms had lights attached and waved about a bit and there was sound to go with. (Gosh, how very sixites I thought, when robots were just coming into the work place and were seen as menacing ... ) An enthusiastic Hull person (there are some, well, at least one) grabbed me by the arm and exclaimed how brilliant and fantastic it all was... I'm afraid I used language that the clergy do not know.

So the Y of C ended not with fireworks, nor yet with a whimper; it just fizzled out possibly from exhaustion or, more likely, boredom... (Officially there was no celebration because (& I paraphrase) "It's not over yet, there's still more to come and, and ,and ..." yeah, yeah, we paid already) The gang of imps, pimps, banjo players and blow-ins from the world of Culture Incorporated responsible for this fest of dreck were all dutifully gonged by Queenie over the New Year and have not been heard of since... And while Hull is still City of Culture for another three years attention will now pass to poor old Coventry. Oh yes! the birth place of Phillip Larkin (damn Hull did him first, still...)... and Lady Godiva and, and, and ... aint culcha fun?