Ceci n'est pas un ...

England it seems has been split into three tiers by the increasingly Caesar-like Fat Controller and I agree. Tier one is all those who thought this is Sars-Cov-2, you have been soaking in the tepid bath of mass media brainwash for far too long, you almost certainly believe in Santa Claus, wear a mask when you brush your teeth, for you there is nothing but an interminable wait for the FC to smile on you and say "You may now take the vaccine and be free". Tier two is those who say no, this is a sea urchin, you mistake the image for reality, you too will fall for the three-card-trick, you think you know the science behind it and can follow the model, you want lockdowns and face masks because you think they work but you complain when your local store closes, for good, and your hairdresser can't fix your curls; for you there is no hope. Tier three has you clever clogs, who have more sense to fall for this nonsense, you say this a mere image, a manipulated collection of dots designed to mislead and be used as propaganda by an old fool, you should go far, but then you're far too clever to be reading this...

This is a detail of something I posted earlier just as the world fell into a madness from which it has not recovered.

King Street, King's Lynn

 

Here's King Street connecting Tuesday Market Place to the Purfleet and the Customs House. Many of the buildings here are listed and medieval in origin with what were considered, back in the day, fashionable Georgian façades, some have clearly had an extra story or two plonked on top. It's a marvellous street to wander down.  Somehow I can't see that bluey-white building getting planning permission these days ("You want to build a big white, square topped thing? On our precious King Street!") yes it stands out and yet it doesn't jar overly. This is just one side, the other is as good, trust me. Good job then that town planners and their dull schemes are Johnnies-come-lately, how did we ever manage without them?

If it's Tuesday

As part of the new national sport of shivying people around there is clearly a need for signs. We haven't quite got to the "Fat Controller is watching you" stage but it can only be a matter of time. There are plenty of keep your distance stickers now fading on the pavements, and shops still have their little arrows for one-way shopping (it never caught on, people forget stuff go back and around, it's only natural; I made a point of going the wrong way round every shop; no-one said anything...) Anyhow here's a really useful sign that informs the unwary that the market on Tuesdays will be held on the Tuesday Market place (gosh! really?); what it doesn't say is that the market has been held there since at least since the days of good King Henry (he of the six wives) and a silly little fakedemic ain't gonna change nothing... It all makes work for the working man to do.

Actually in Tuesday Market Place there are some new-to-me seats celebrating local entrepreneur and thrice Lord Mayor of Lynn, Frederick Savage. I think they may have umbrella shades in them when the sun shines. I tried it for comfort and I'd say about a 7 out of 10.

Here again is the Duke's Head and St Nick's chapel poking up in the back.

And finally because I'll probably never get another chance to post it is a picture of some street signs.

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.

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.

Walking the Walks

One of the tree lined walks in the Walks, King's Lynn.

In this brief interlude between two phases of non-existence it really seems otiose to have favourites that may, like us, be here today and disappoint tomorrow. Despite this City Daily Photo in what it assures us is its very last first day of the month thing has chosen 'favourite photo' for its theme. Is this a favourite photo? Meh! It'll do for now; until the next one.

Let us fade

This is St Nick's (chapel of ease) again, back in February and still in King's Lynn in case you were wondering. Quite why St N's is on St Anne's Street is probably something to do with there being a St Ann's fort at sometime just down the road though why name a fort after St Ann (with or without an e) is another question. It's my story, not much of a story I agree but it's all mine and I'll digress if I want to ... where was I? Oh yes all that end is now cleared away to become the subject of on-line forums filled with fading black and white photos and equally fading memories... and there's a museum, I think I mentioned, there's a museum. There's a car wash too, do you want to see the car wash? ... it's quite colourful ... at night.

Just some trees

Here we're back in King's Lynn in the Walks. Peeking out the background is that old Red Mount Chapel but the trees in their late winter finery are the stars here.

The Red Mount Chapel

This I've posted before (here and here) and well here it is again. If you don't like it you know what to do.

Nothing but the night

Oh never fear, man, nought's to dread,
  Look not to left nor right:
In all the endless road you tread
  There's nothing but the night.

                                      A.E. Houseman

A war memorial in a town is, unfortunately, no great surprise, every town I've been in has one. Hartlepool, no town of any great size, has a massive one in the heart of town, Hull has one (well several really if you start to add them up 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 ... though this is not exhaustive). This is King's Lynn's sad remembrance for fallen youth in a quite splendid setting next to the Greyfriars' tower. 

Dieu et mon droit

"In a revolution, as in a novel. the most difficult part to invent is the end."

                                                                                        Alexis de Tocqueville.

A monarchy is these days and indeed any days a ridiculous institution, the head of state chosen by who puts his squawky head first into the world from between the legs of the reigning monarch's consort. We live in unusual times in that the next one in line came direct from the monarch's crotch but no mind, it's bonkers, you know it, I know it and even they know it. 

But that is just the beginning, as it were, for once monarchised the individual has no point in life other than to be a dumb rubber stamp for the Government. There are, of course compensations, the pay is good, the lodgings palatial and the fawning lackeys infinite. And all you have to do is roll up once a year in a horse and cart, read a short speech, written for you (on goat skin parchment) declare Parliament open for business and then bugger orf for another year. 

But as someone once said no sane man can be anything but ashamed of the government he lives under so it is mightily demeaning for us to continue this constitutional failure of the English Revolution (1649 and all that ...) year after year. But what to replace it with? Hmm? An elected president, I hear you say. But what powers would such a person have? Queenie has been around now for over 60 years but she can't say boo to a goose without the Government telling her to. An elected person would clearly have some mandated power simply by being elected. This would, like the fabled gun on a West End stage, have to be used at some point and then comes constitutional mess. We would not want to end like our colonial cousins with their elected monarch and spend three out of every four years arraigning (Thank you Freud; I meant to write 'arranging' but we'll let it stand as it is) his successor clearly those founding fathers hadn't thought this through. But that is not our concern.

Well then let us have a president with only "meet and greet" functions, a puppet (or muppet) to call Head of State, someone to wheel out for special ...

So who would want the job and what qualifications are needed? Would a sane person be fit to appoint to such a meaningless and thankless position surely they would tire and want more, be bored, get diverted. The sort of person who might put themselves forward would be instantly suspect. No, much rather pick some slow witted person, someone who has shown no great intelligence, a person who has perhaps been the product of generations of breeding and selection, a special someone for the purpose (horses for courses, as they say). Where would we find such a fellow ... where indeed? I think I know just the man.

The picture is the top of the old county court house which I would say was on London Road but I see is now officially on St James' Road but, never mind, both roads are in King's Lynn. That the English monarch should have a French motto comes as no surprise to us poor bloody English and if Les Français should tire of Monsieur le President I'm sure Lizzie would be only too glad to take over the reigns; I believe they still secretly lay claim to bits (if not the tout ensemble) of La Patrie. Bonkers!

The Long Pond

I'm going through some pictures that somehow failed to get in here when they should have. This is, as the title says, the Long Pond in King's Lynn. It was taken in February this year while the country was falling slowly into a nightmare from which it has failed to awaken.

Here's the other end of the other half, a road runs across it. Someone must have been through and taken out all the shopping trolleys, it looked spick and span as they used to say before they were muzzled.

Even before the new normal became the normal duffers needed telling how not to drown.