Maister House again

I posted about Maister House  sometime last year, well I finally had a look inside on Saturday. The main attraction is the staircase and upper balcony with its neat geometrical arrangement. There was a limitation on the numbers who could stand on the balcony, six at any one time, and a bit of a queue waiting for the privilege so I didn't wait around. The house is a National Trust property and you can have a look round most days if you care to. The pictures give the impression of Stygian gloom, it's was fairly dark but not as black as that.

The ceilings are richly decorated but not very well lit, so my little camera had a few problems picking out any details.

Know your limitations

This weekend was the Open Heritage Days, when various old buildings and some not so old are open for us public to come in and have a good gawp. Previous years I've either forgotten about or missed it but this year I was in town. Now for some reason I found myself in Holy Trinity Church waiting to go up the tower. I somehow had forgotten my hinky knee and my lifelong fear of heights. So anyway I managed to climb up the medieval spiral staircase and get up on to the roof and forced myself to take a few pictures without completely losing the plot. The further ascent up to the actual top of the tower was, I decided, going too far. Yeah I know, I'm a cowardly wuss. 

Queen Street

Tidal barrier and the Deep

Looking north

No, I ain't going up there, thank you.

Contempt, who me?

A little bit of Humber Street

I'm pondering whether or not I hold the city of Hull in contempt, an odd thing to do on a Friday evening but there you go. Someone in response to a comment I made to a piece in the Guardian newspaper remarked that I held the city in contempt. I don't where he got this idea. I confess to being sceptical, utterly unconvinced by any of the gushing praises currently being heaped upon the place, I'm frankly amazed that people put up with the ridiculously poor service from the Council and its, at times, idiotic staff. The schools, the roads, housing, health provision and so on all these things are far from good. Is pointing this out an act of contempt? I could, of course, say that the place was one big gloriously happy family, I could do that but, frankly, I'm not good at fiction.

The Weekend in Black and White is here.
And Weekend Reflections are here.

Making a start

The public pathway by the river has reopened now that they've finished knocking down whatever buildings stood in the way and work on the C4DI thing at the old dry dock goes on its merry way. Scaffolding down to the floor of the dock is a development though I'd be a tad wary of that dock gate patched up as it is with bits of wood and expanding foam. Still it's not visibly leaking. (The circus tent in the background was to do with the Freedom Festival event that this year attracted thousands more than ever before)

T'other side

Enough navel gazing, time to look out at what the world outside this place has to offer. Ah yes the delights of Killingholme! Here to entertain our eyes are two oil refineries and two natural gas power stations and last but not least a liquid petroleum gas storage facility. Should that little lot go bang I wouldn't give much for the two miles of Humber to protect this wondrous city, but let's not dwell on that.

No, today comes news (well it's oldish news really I just hadn't got round to it) that Hull will, according a leading councillor, have a cruise liner terminal! Well at least lots of money (will £380,000 be enough?) is being spent to think about having a terminal. (This council's caution before making any decision has led to a small boom in business consultants eager to help HCC make up its mind, I wonder if this is just a local thing or do other councils spend small fortunes on these expensive exercises?) It is to be placed near the Deep so, realistically, somewhere in the middle of this picture. Now I know you're all thinking ah Cruise ships, sundowners on a sundrenched deck, Love Boat and all that baggage. Hmmm this the Humber, basically the North Sea by another name so I'm thinking more frost bitten Kate O'Mara of Triangle infamy. (Did I just show my age there?)

Postscript:
It's not every day you learn something new. So I am grateful to Christine Hasman for telling me that Killingholme Creek is where some of the Pilgrim Fathers, the Scrooby Separatists, managed to embark for Holland in 1608. Below is the memorial erected by the Anglo-American Society of Hull in 1924, this is now at Immingham as a petrochemical plant sits on the original site and is visited by many Americans each year.

Thanks once more to Christine Hasman for these photos.

The price of failure

I have mentioned Neptune, the tidal power scheme, before and also how it proved to be not quite the raging success that had been hoped. A few weeks ago I noticed that it was no longer moored just past the Deep and thought that it had gone for good. Imagine my surprise then to see this little boat with the unmistakable yellow cabin just chugging upstream the other day. Off to the scrapyard no doubt.

Looking for business, mistah?

County Hall or Guildhall? Meh!

It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed. What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the woman was old. The paint was plastered so thick on her face that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask. There were streaks of white in her hair; but the truly dreadful detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing nothing except a cavernous blackness. She had no teeth at all. (1984, G. Orwell)

Many years ago I lived near Paddington Station, an area well known for prostitutes. One of their enticements, indeed the only one I ever heard, was "Are you looking for business, mistah?". It was brief and to the point and there was absolutely no mistaking what the business was.

I mention this because we, that is to say the residents of East Yorkshire who have the misfortune to live near to neighbouring Hull are being solicited for our favours by two sadly, very unattractive ladies of the night. The one playing the role of mater familias urges us not let our eyes stray upon the dubious delights of the younger, pushy tart who has a new German pimp and is eager to swallow us up whole. This second, flashes her eyelashes in a most seductive way and tells us it would be good for business, honey, ah but what kind of business is far from clear. And when you look closely, if you dare, at both these suppurating cankered madames they reveal nothing but cavernous blackness. So we are asked to be like some latter day Paris with a worm riddled apple and like poor Winston we go ahead and do it just the same.

Referendum papers for ERYC's £60,000 farce are being sent out today.