To lose two looks like carelessness

On our way to Cottingham via Snuff Mill Lane we came across an amusing sight ... a pair of artfully arranged riding hats possibly by the same guy who brought us the "spectacles on a bench" installation that was such a success the other year.

Kaleidoscopic vacuity

Here from the height of last year's summer is the terminally dull and unoriginal mural that appeared on a gable end on Spring Bank. There are, in the wind, plans to turn this Victorian thoroughfare, a place of many cultures from the Middle East to eastern European, a place that has a vibrancy all of its own, not all together legal, not all together understood by those powers that want to be; in short a place that may not be to everyone's taste but certainly does not need any interfering busybody coming in to "improve" things... to turn this into a pitiful, pastiche of Tobermory or that unique neighbourhood in Bristol with painted houses. Yes, as you might have guessed, there is public money in the form of arts grants washing about and that means people will have the c(lapt)rap, sorry Art, thrust upon them volens nolens by talentless, parasitic oiks who, seemingly, could not get gainful employment other than through the public purse. It is called a community art project, but communities do not make art, communities make sewage and litter and children that need educating and patients in hospitals and so on but never art. Artists make art and on this street artists leave few traces.

I believe this is a spin off of the City of Culture, a so-called 'legacy event' ... a legacy of peeling fading paint and second grade 1960s art school doodles with vacuous, archaic, pseudo-socialist, concepts such as Unity. Unity of what? With what? For what? Pshaw! Unity, that fabled imaginary strength of the multitudinous and disparate working classes, is much like God and religion; what little there was of it died and fell apart a long time ago and is not much missed.

... and carry a big stick.

As if having authority from the almighty weren't enough church authority by the middle ages had sought a more temporal power to keep the great unwashed in order and to organise the day-to-day business of hatching, matching and dispatching the god fearing (and, no doubt, feared by god) populace. To that end arose the position of virger or verger and obviously such a position requires a staff of office, the virge, basically a big stick quite possibly used to clout the unruly in to behaving themselves. Here's Holy Trinity's verger with his ornate magic wand with the triple crowns of Kingston-upon-Hull ... 

It's all really quite silly, this quasi pagan vesting authority into a stick (God's rod; the phallic imagery is clear, is it not or is that just me?) but then you see it popping up all over place not least in our Parliament and town councils with their fancy maces which have to be present before any business can be carried out. Parliament even has its own verger, Black Rod, by royal appointment. All utterly ridiculous or verging on it.

Small Tortoiseshell

Back in August I posted how we were having a good year for Painted Lady butterflies a few days later a host of these pretty fellows turned up to feast on the buddleia and pose on my letter box. These are small tortoiseshell butterflies (Aglais urticae) a species recently thought to be headed for extinction due to parasites, man-made chemicals, global warming, Brexit and the fall of Sterling against a basket of currencies  and so on... clearly no-one told these guys. As the Latin name suggests nettles feature strongly in their life cycle so I always leave some growing if I can (OK laziness plays a great part in this).

These are not to be confused with the Large Tortoiseshell which really is extinct , at least in the UK and Ireland.

Sad soft fries

More of an update on the old Co-op/BHS mural. In early October the council announced that the whole lot was to be demolished, too much asbestos, too tricky to remove, too expensive, too dangerous, too, too, just too much everything...  You get the picture. Then later in the next month and a bit like the cavalry arriving in the last reel of an old-time movie, the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport (quite a mouthful that) declared that the mosaic had Grade 2 listed protection as it has "special architectural and historic interest". This does not save the mural by itself. I think what this means is that the council now has to apply for special permission to knock the thing down and many a Grade 2 has been lost over the years. This late intervention, however, puts the game into extra time as they say ...

Finally and on a silly note I came upon a site that writes 'haikus' that depend on your GPS location or where ever you happen to want it to be. They're  actually just three line random bits of junk since a haiku must have 5,7,5 syllables, but still it managed to 'know' about the Co-op mural in some strange way that makes the internet a pleasing nightmare.

Faites vos jeux

You recall, well of course you don't, I'm just being polite, the old Clarence Mill and its slow, painfully slow demolition. Well the place where it stood is surrounded by a board fence and, as is the style these days, that has become the canvas for any Thomas, Richard and Henrietta to come along with a can of paint and decorate the neighbourhood. Originality or even talent are not needed just a wilful desire to spray any old rubbish around the place and call it "self-expression". It's really just a mess.

My old post reminds me that there were grand plans for a hotel with a casino ...  I have no idea what's in store for the place now, I guess the wheel's still in spin.

Next Year's Weeds

So that's one more year seen through without too many disasters, still standing (or rather sitting) at the end of it all can't be too bad to paraphrase old Nietzsche (again). So take deep breath and let's go through another turn round the sun and see what a year will bring ... 

City Daily Photo asks for our "photo of the year" again. I chose these bountiful thistle seeds from the year's wanderings in my time. They may be a gardener's nightmare but then I'm not a gardener.

Happy New Year to almost everyone ...