Les vaches qui dansent

OK it's happy laughing Friday as my old dad used to call it and we're not dead yet, well not quite. Bring on the dancing cows ... They're not mad, you just can't hear the music.

Merci à Margot.

...the spirit of perpetual negation

                             ...for all things that exist
Deserve to perish, and would not be missed—

The Little Etons

The Government finally realised what many had been saying for so long that all of its schools were totally useless so they shut them, just like that, overnight. Now, says the Government, folk can take their feral brats and teach them at home in front of the TV or some internet device. So I give you the little Etons and Harrows of north Hull, each a busy hive of pedagogical activity where the wonders of the world and its many intricacies are laid bare to the ever receptive minds of youngsters. Attendance at these educational establishments is enforced by the local police who demand to see your hall pass should you be wandering the streets without a reasonable excuse.

The theme day for this first of April is "school". 

And before anyone says whoah! there's ghosts in the picture I know, it's what happens with iPhones doing panoramas. 

This is Greenwood Avenue, Hull looking towards York Road and Ellerburn Avenue. It's an area notorious for petty anti-social activity such as chucking bricks at buses and robbing pensioners, on a good day you can play spot the drug dealers; the sort of really nice area that looks a lot better from a distance.

Red bike and blue

Unwanted bikes make for colourful flower displays (eventually) or so says Hunstanton. I'm supposed to be stuck in a house a hundred and more miles away so my view rightly doesn't count for much.

Escapism

I mentioned at the start of this month how Henry Le Strange built a very successful railway to get folk from King's Lynn to Hunstanton, well thanks to 1960s profligacy that line no longer exists. You'll have to find other means of escape that's if the CovidNazis will ever let you out of your house again. Above we have the neatly decorated KL station still pretending it is run by British Rail (Queenie regularly uses this place and they haven't told her about denationalisation) and below all that's left of Hunstanton station where the trains ran into the sea...

Here's a little something extra, a relatively young John Betjeman (younger than me, let us say) taking us on a day trip from Lynn to Hunstanton. Look, listen and learn not least how to pronounce Hunstanton and Snettisham. A different country in so many ways.

Triple tattoosies

On the first Sunday of Operation Domestic Internment I thought that, for want of anything better, some tattoo parlours might fill the gap until tomorrow. Above from Hunstanton has a fine pun and skull. Below from King's Lynn is just showing off but somehow does not overcome the sleaze, I mean a red door off a side street off London Road... definitely as it should be done.

And finally who has the bad luck to open up just days before the current outbreak of stupidity? Good job he hadn't got too settled in. But "Angry Badger"?  What's that all about? This one is just down the road in Hull and was the site of the short lived "Killer Kitchens" enterprise ("Kitchens to die for at slashed prices"!) ... some might say places have a doom on them.

Only our rivers run free

How sweet is life but we're crying, how mellow the wine but we're dry,
How fragrant the rose but it's dying, how gentle the wind but it sighs,
What good is in youth when it's ageing, what joy is in eyes that can't see,
When there's sorrow in sunshine and flowers, and still only our rivers run free. 

                                                                                              Michael McConnell

It seems you can be fined for taking your dog for a walk, going to the shop more than once a day. Don't think for one minute of putting the kids in a car and going to the wildest most empty spaces as far from any other person as you can imagine because your journey is deemed unnecessary by your unelected Chief Constable and he's spying on you with his drones. The police and the media invite us to inform of breaches of the new way of repression, I wouldn't tell the police the time of day ... 

Our liberties, once considered sacred and worth fighting wars over, are now in a bag marked "unnecessary" and "a danger to public health" (there is , of course, no such thing as public health; it's a myth used to cow the timid and ignorant) and there they will stay until unelected civil servants or idiots from Imperial College dictate. Our ancient rights to go about our lawful business without let or hindrance swept aside in a couple of days with the blessing of a rancid (and hopefully fatally infected) Parliament... 

We, the imprisoned, were urged the other night to go out at 8pm of an evening and applaud our imprisonment, to thank the NHS (what for? for doing the job we pay them for? ) and as you might guess many did. Sweet, intoxicating stuff that Kool Aid. Well, if my neighbours are assholes it's not my problem.