A Twenty Twenty Vision

Remember back in the bad days, the days before the glorious Fat Controller took us all under his gross, adiposal care and smothered us with lock downs, useless, health threatening face muzzles and quarantines and testing (always with the testing) and , now, whisper it softly, a vaccine! Yeah Laissez les bons temps roulez as nobody ever said, ever. You'd have be a "nutter" not to take the vaccine and save lives (it's not about you it's about saving lives, don't be so selfish and wear your mask!) ... Remember when life was so evil that the country was rich with a booming economy, there were shops that sold stuff, bars where you could get a drink, restaurants where you could eat, transport you could use freely, go anywhere without a care, without the glare and the stare ... Do you even recall the simple Referendum to leave the European Union? (or even remember the EU? No, me neither, strange how quickly the memory fades... I had to check yes; it's still there and still falling apart, still wants to fish in UK waters and have the UK pay for its follies, plus ça change...) The madness back then inspired this monstrosity though it seems to be talking more and more of the divisive insanity that strides the land these days, with mass hysteria and ovine compliance with ridiculous politically inspired dictats from ministers who are drowning in their vain, incompetence. The UK is no longer a Parliamentary democracy, no, the land that was the Mother of Parliaments is now run by statutory notices, the rotten, stinking vestige of medieval Royal prerogative, supposedly vetted by MPs but in practice just pushed through without so much as a whisper of a debate, and Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition are just compliant ninnies in this coup d'état. It's dictatorship in all but name. Oh he's a bumbling, avuncular dictator, but that is what he is, have no doubt. I hear he's a classical buff, can recite the Iliad in the original ancient Greek, then no doubt he'll recall the words of Brutus as he shivved old Julius: "Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis". His turn will come, it always does.

The weekend in Black and White is here.

A tired old tart

I've told before how gun-running local entrepreneur cum property developer Zaccharia Pearson 'donated' a piece of land to the west of the then expanding Victorian city of Hull so that the local council could have a public park (around which desirable space Zacc built and sold many large town villas). Anyhow past speculations and malfeasance aside the place was a Victorian promenading success with a bandstand and a lake and a little bridge and a glass conservatory. But we no longer live in the era of middle class well-to-dos taking the air in a town park and so  over the years the bandstand went, the bridge went and the conservatory became shabby and run down. The park in recent years has a reputation for not being at all pleasant or indeed safe. Still, undaunted by the flow of history, the Pearson Park fan club and the council and (I think) lottery funding of nearly £4 million have put back a little bridge and a bandstand and rebuilt a conservatory. Oh and repaired the ornate gateway as I mentioned some months back. (Must get a picture of that delight some time)

As you know I'm a great believer that bandstands are quite possibly the most stupid invention even more than face masks in public spaces. Here's a little beauty, already the haunt of local youth and destined to feature in so many stories of vandalism, drug abuse and violence in the local rag. If there were awards for pointless constructions well this is surely a contender. The only reason I can find for it being here is that there used to be one so there has to be one now, stands to reason.

I did like the weather vane on the conservatory though the building itself looks hideous and out-of-place. I believe it has already been vandalised several times in the short time it has been built; with any luck they'll destroy it completely.

So there you go, several million pounds in the pockets of the renovators and we have a park that has a pointless bandstand, a reinstalled but unnecessary bridge and a crappy glasshouse and a repainted cast iron gate posts for a gate that is never closed. I think this was a massive wasted opportunity to spend money wisely on something new, innovative and imaginative. This is supposed, somehow, to make Pearson Park attractive, "like new". It fails. It might have worked a hundred and fifty years ago but not now. Now it looks like a tired old tart with way too much make-up and hideous lippy hiding the cracks and pretending she can still pull the punters, not quite ugly but giving off a stench of desperation.

Refreshes the parks that other beers cannot reach

Pearson Park is the unlikely recipient of a large dollop of money (is £3.8 million a large dollop or a goodly sum? what is the convention on money matters?) to restore, repair and otherwise faff with those bits that remain of the original Victorian gift to the town from property speculator and gun runner Zacc Pearson. The works includes taking away the gates and making them as good as new though why that should mean that entrance is closed for approximatly (sic) six weeks is beyond me. (And why good money should be spent on gates that are never, but never, closed is also beyond me, but it's not my money so I don't care.) There's rumours of a new bandstand for the drunks and takers of spice to stay dry on rainy days so they will be happy. The conservatory will be replaced  and there's to be a wee bridge across the lake just like there was when Prince Albert had his memorial made. For a few thousand more they could have had a crossing sweeper named Jo ... but tough decisions have to made.

The park has a bit of a reputation  for being a place  where people of a certain disposition indulge their pleasures (both carnal and narcotic). But after all this turning back of the clock by the friends of Pearson Park they will no doubt be so in awe that they will move on elsewhere and not spoil it for respectable people (same goes for the rats that abound there in).

Whispering sweet nothings

I posted about this delightful surreal carving in Pearson Park before showing the thing being carved and to be honest I thought I'd posted about it again to show the completed work but you know what thought did ... so to put things right here's a few more images. While taking these pictures a man rode by on a bike and clearly he hadn't noticed this before and he nearly fell off craning his neck round  and gaping in disbelief ...

I recall the artist telling me that he was trying to make the figures a bit more child friendly and less scary towards the ground which appealed to Margot who took this picture.

The weekend in Black and White is here.

An Ugly Duckling

Well here's a rare sighting. What a mute swan? Rare? Well yes when it's in Pearson Park duck pond. In thirty odd years I've only seen about three swans in this postage stamp sized watering hole. I suppose all the trees and bushes must make landing and take off a difficulty plus I'm told it needs a good sixty yards to get really airborne and clear of obstacles. This one still had some brownish plumage suggesting it's a young bird and so was unaware of the perils of Pearson Park.

And while on an avian theme; the regular summer visiting swifts that should be here by now have failed to appear. Across England sightings are down by as much as 25%.  The globe, it seems, isn't working any more. The blue skies are a very dull and sterile place without them.

The Wicked Witch of the Wych

Here's another set I should have posted last year before the grand ennui set in. You might recall an old dead tree being reshaped in Pearson Park and you might also recall me saying there was another dead tree close by that might be available. Well most of last summer someone was busy with a grinder transforming that tree into a mix of faces and animals.

We happened to be passing this tree and saw the guy at work; he stopped and made some kind of hand gesture indicating "would I like to come up and have a closer look?" So after much struggling ( I have the acrobat skills of a hippopotamus ) I eventually got onto the scaffolding and took a few pictures.

"What did I think this was?" asks the guy, "A clown?" says I  having in mind Punch and Judy. He was not impressed, "No, it's a witch! And why would I put a witch here?" he asked (it was beginning to feel a bit like the Spanish Inquisition) I shrug, "The tree was a Wych Elm!" he says with a gleam in eye ...

Here's the nice guy with grinder and  the skill to make things appear out of the wood, his name is Julian Barnard and his work was for the Trustees of Pearson Park. He was given a brief of “poetic” (Philip Larkin's old lodgings are directly opposite and the toad figure is again another Larkin thing) The piece, which is now finished, has the title Whispering Sweet Nothings.

Some geese and a couple of manky mallards

I know, I mean, well manky is not a nice word but it seems among British birdwatching folks these beautiful mallard hybrids have been given this disparaging soubriquet, manky mallards. Maybe that says more about the birdwatchers than these individuals.

Manky, moi?

This guy was the size of a goose. Who are you calling manky?

A Visit From Doris

I've posted this little folly before but I think it's worth another visit especially as the trees are in their Winter best. This was part of the old town hall pulled down to make way for the Guildhall. I've just noticed the three rusting crowns on the top; the symbol of Hull, the crowns not the rust; although ....

The weather forecasters have taken to giving storms names, a practice I believe that originated in the States with hurricanes and tropical storms. Well today Storm Doris is due to pay us a visit and rip up this little part of the world with heavy rain, snow in Scotland and high winds for us in Hull and hereabouts. But I'm sorry Doris just doesn't cut it as a storm name, it lacks any menace. My first cat's mother was called Doris, for heavens sake, and a sweeter cat you never did see. The only other Doris I can think of is Doris Day! Until tomorrow then, Doris permitting.

The Trees in Winter

Pearson Park in February without its greenery is still a pleasant enough place to while away a half hour or so. Just watch out for the geese, the mud and the poisonous blue-green algae in the pond, apart from that and the drunks it's idyllic. I hear talk of a two million pound make over, with a bandstand (the drunks and junkies will like that somewhere to get out of the rain) a new conservatory and so on and the loss of fifteen trees ... enjoy it while you can.

Victorian Grime

In Pearson Park the old Queen could do with a bit of a wash and brush. She does scrub up well as they say, see here. And we breathe in the air that makes this so mucky ... yikes!

The moving plod plods; and, having plodded, plods on.

In the  glad confident years of the end of the last century Humberside Police spent well if not too wisely and opened little stations at various places throughout the town and outer regions. One such was this in Pearson Park, next door to the mosque since you ask. There was another built on Beverley Road not four hundred yards from this... Total waste of money. Although it was a station it never seemed to have anyone in it and the couple of times I needed to contact the old Bill I had to use a phone installed in the doorway which put me through to some distant operator who took a message and promised to "see to my query" (meaning get lost and don't bother us we're having our tea break). 

Well you probably know where this is heading ... 2008, the political choice to impose austerity and so on meant that Humberside Police had to close these places in the name of efficiency (an admission if one were needed that these places weren't an efficient use of resources) and they also rashly sacked hundreds of officers. I must just mention in passing that Hull now has the highest burglary rate outside of London (hoorah!) ... maybe it's unconnected and really due to all that culture, who can say?.

So, anyhow,  if you want a big Victorian villa in Pearson Park with nice quiet neighbours apply to the Humberside Police...

Old woss'is name lived 'ere.

‘It was the top flat of a house that was reputedly the American Consulate during the war, and though it might not have suited everybody, it suited me’. 

                                                                   Philip Larkin

Pip Larkin gets a small plaque for his endurance if nothing else; eighteen years in an attic flat overlooking Pearson Park. I'd liked to have shown more of the place, a large Victorian town house, but high hedges and a high gate with a 'Beware of the Dog' sign, along with sounds of said dog sniffling and growling around somewhat put me off. Visitors to next year's city of culture are duly warned.

We'd like to build a little extension ...

There's been a mosque in Pearson Park since the late 90's. It was in a converted Victorian villa and as the congregation grew many worshippers had to pray outside in what was the front garden. Clearly not an ideal situation especially when it rains. So plans were submitted for an extension to the rear and after the usual delays and objections from the neighbours (t'was ever thus) consent was given in 2011 and so now Hull has this rather pleasant little addition to its skyline and the prayerful get to keep their heads dry in wet weather.

Tree Doodle

Over in Pearson Park a chestnut tree about to be felled due to being rotten has been transformed into this interesting oddity; a three headed being each head having a crown and an outstretched arm holding an ice-cream. There's not a lot to say about it really. I like it.

There's another dead tree close by if anyone fancies having a go.

Common Gulls

Well the first dusting of snow in two years thankfully melted away before I could get any pictures. Here's one I took earlier, much earlier, these are Common Gulls (Larus canus, the grey gull!)  in Pearson Park where they gather en masse to steal the bread out of the beaks of the ducks. Snow is just snow; you've seen one load of it you've seen the lot. I can live without thank you.

A Taste of Full Flava

Out for a walk on Saturday when the sound of amplified voices drifted out of Pearson Park; it was the the Full Flava Festival transforming the small park into an arena of music and dancing and general good fun. The volume near the stage was such as to set your mesentery vibrating but if you didn't stand too close it was tolerable and there were plenty of other attractions as well.

Queenie was sure to do a mean hip-hop when no-one was looking.

Looking good

My what a difference a coat of paint makes (along with hours and hours of hard work). Here is what was the Dorchester Hotel on Beverley Road. It closed a few years ago and was subjected to the now usual attacks from vandals and metal thieves (for a peek inside click here) and was left for long enough boarded up and looking pretty grim as you can see from a pic taken two years ago. (Would it be churlish to mention at this point that there is a police station directly opposite this building and still the destruction went on? Humberside Police "Protect, Help, Reassure", yeah right!)

The building is actually three Victorian villas built in the 1860's after Pearson Park opened just behind them. They were cobbled together to make what at one time was a 58 bedroom hotel later reduced to 25 after renovation in 2002. Even adding a nightclub couldn't save it. I think its position on the run down slummed down end of Beverley Road couldn't have helped. This year, however, it has been taken in hand and is looking good. I not quite sure what the plans are for it but I suspect it is returning to private accommodation. 

A folly or two

I don't know if I've shown this before but it doesn't matter if I repeat myself (a sure sign of creeping old age ...). Anyhow this is or was the top cupola from the old town hall built in 1866 and knocked down to make way for the Guildhall. Clearly there was no shortage of money for public buildings in those days. It now sits among the ducks and geese of Pearson Park.

For those of you who long to see a short film about Hull  the city of culture people have produced a four and half minute encomion. You can see it here and judge for yourself. I suspect Larkin, whose words (taken from an introduction to anthology that appeared over thirty years ago) are used at the beginning, would be laughing his head off  if he could see how much pretentious tosh has been made out of his scribblings.

One Man and His Dog

Photo by Margot K Juby

Zebra stripes

Again this is from last week; it's probably all daffodils and primroses now the mild weather has set in. This horse was a plain old horse until someone painted stripes on him some time back, he's been a zebra ever since. Oh and those gulls are just waiting for Mr Hitchcock to say "Action...."