The Lair

Installed in what was once a waiting room for emigrants who wanted to make a dream come true in another land is the Tigers Lair, a place for supporter's of the local football club who, I suppose, also want to make their dreams come true. Well, they're playing with the big boys next season we'll see what comes of dreaming.

Buffet car

So what do you do with two old rail carriages and an archway on Beverley Road? Obviously you turn them into a cafe bar, what else?

Where have all the flowers gone ...

What, you might ask, has the brutal murder of a young man in Woolwich, south London a couple of weeks ago got to do with Hull? Well I don't know, I'm sure, but quite a few have taken that horrific event to heart and left bunches of flowers at the war memorial on Ferensway. Presumably it makes them feel better and if doing this  means they are not joining the odious English Defence League marching on our streets and hurling vile racial abuse at Asian shopkeeprs then I suppose it does no harm. But then again that's a big if ....

Scenic Route

The usual route to east Hull is a pretty straight forward trip along Clough Road and Mount Pleasant. The last time, however, the taxi driver had other ideas and off we went down the byways of the back of beyond. I managed a few shots as we went along. They're in black and white 'cos the windows had a gaudy blue tint.

The Weekend in Black & White is here.

It's a Hull thing

Patty: a concoction of mashed potato and sage covered in batter and deep fried; sometimes served with chips which are potatoes also deep fried and scraps which are bits of deep fried batter. Often served in a Patty Butty which means the patty comes in a breadcake with butter (the health conscious leave out the butter).

Breadcake: a small round piece of bread  sometimes known as a bap or barm cake or stottie or bun or  fadge or whatever other dialect term meets your fancy.

Obesity Table: one of the few leagues that Hull tops [ 1 ].

This toad, known for some reason as the "Hull Poem Toad" was part of the Larkin Toads thing from a couple of years back. It's not on food shop, oh no, it's on a shop selling doors on Anlaby Road.

Stanley Street: a place of miracles

In this innocuous looking building a privately owned French company (Atos) is carrying out one the most repulsive programs of this government, one that is leading to misery and even death for thousands of the most vulnerable. This is the Department for Work and Pensions medical centre on Stanley Street where the sick and disabled must come to jump or crawl through hoops to show they are unfit enough to receive a pittance of benefit. The inspiration behind places like this is the novel Catch 22; so merely turning up for an interview shows you are well enough to work and not turning up means benefits are stopped. Needless to say the system does not work and there are literally hundreds of thousands of people waiting to appeal decisions based on the the rigid computerised questionnaire used by Atos. These appeals can take over a year to reach a tribunal and when they do up to 70% are successful, clear evidence that Atos are not doing proper assessments (they get paid whatever, needless to say). The human cost is measured in the suicides of mental health patients forced to apply for work, filling in the forms is too daunting for some, cancer patients denied benefits on their death beds and others simply dropping dead days after they've been told they are fit for work. The gallows humour has it that this place works miracles: so many infirm and disabled suddenly able to live an active economic life after a short visit.

The Eagle, Coltman Street and a Cautionary Tale

There has been a pub called the Eagle on or around this site since 1840 [ 1 ]. Now, along with many other pubs, it's closed and up for sale and looking a bit forlorn. It stands on the corner of Anlaby Road and Coltman Street. Now Coltman Street and thereabouts have long had a well deserved reputation for criminality and even murder. A particularly brutal one in the early nineties when a man was shot dead on his doorstep is still controversial. A favourite of mine, if that is the word to use about these things, happened in the early 80's. A man strangled his wife and left her body in the bedroom over Winter, with the windows wide open of course, so the smell would dissipate. The victim in this case was described as being odd because she was quiet ("she wouldn't gossip") and read books, and thus was clearly asking for trouble! The killer was convicted of manslaughter the following Summer, spent a few months in prison and was out before the year was over, no doubt to have a drink in this very pub. That's 1980's by the way not 1880's.

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I hear there are attempts to do up the street and bring it back to its former glory. I'm not so sure that's such a good idea.