The Nation's Feet: a scandal

Armies may march on their stomachs but most folk use their feet. So what happens if, say, you get corns, calluses or ingrowing toe nails? Not that you would; no you will go through life like a dancing fairy with no need of podiatry care. But suppose you did and you went along to your doctor expecting the NHS to give you relief. Well unless you are under 16, over 65 or a registered disabled person with diabetes you will be turned away. Now this seems a strange policy since the workforce of this country needs good strong feet and not caring for them will mean a painful and less productive workforce, lost workdays and reduced GDP; all the things the NHS was designed to prevent. But as you can see feet are not glamorous, they're a bit of a joke really and so people are left to suffer. I'd write to my MP if I had one right now... and my feet weren't playing up.

Ne'er cast a clout till May be out

No, not a political slogan, but advice on what to wear in England in spring time which can be notoriously fickle temperature wise. You may know May blossom  as hawthorn, maythorn, quickthorn, whitethorn or (my favourite if Wikipedia can be believed) motherdie but the name matters little when it's covering the whole countryside with luscious white blossom. The scent of this bush is particularly pungent and, some say, redolent of corpses which may be why it is considered bad luck to bring the blossom into your house. It looks much better outside any way.

Margot took the top shot. She prefers it in colour but it's not her blog.

The weekend in black and white is here.

A trip round the bay

Though Pirates grow old

And their beards go grey

It's never too cold

For a trip round the bay.

OK I'll give up the doggerel and stick to the day job...

Look what they done to the hole, Ma ...

Now I know you should not judge something before it's finished but this is not looking good. Regular readers will recall the Hull hole otherwise known as the Beverley Gate ruins or remains or whatever. It had become an uncared for, litter strewn place where youths gathered to do whatever youths do (skate boarding, drinking, smoking, in short all the fun things). The options were to fill it in or re-jig in some way to make it more amenable. A public vote decided on the latter option and we are where we are with this; well it's about half as big as it used to be, the lining seems to be horrid brownish beige 1970's concrete tiles that clash with the ancient brickwork, the steps are just ugly, it looks awful. Oh sure there's a lot of planting behind where I'm standing and the taxi rank has been moved (much to the annoyance of taxi drivers) but I don't see this as anything other than worse than before. And where are our discontented youths to go now? And who will pick up the litter? Maybe filling it up was the better option ... it's never too late.

Acquainted with the Night

“I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.”                                                                                                                ― John Keats

This is apparently Mental Health Awareness Week where well intentioned folk try to shed the stigma of anxiety/depression/suicidal ideation and "seek to uncover why too few of us are thriving with good mental health". Good luck to them in that, many have tried and few succeeded. For some of us though it's not just one week in a year but every day we have to deal with all this mental crud, step by little step or post by little post perhaps...

 Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost

The pretty bit

Prince Street is in just about all the tourist guides as a "must go see if in Hull sort of place". Strange how I hardly ever see anyone down here.

Happy Days