Something will turn up

"Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen and six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery." 

                                                                                                                     Charles Dickens

There is a saying that any noun can be verbed and vice versa: the technical term for this trickery is anthimeria; it is one of the useful features of the English language. However turning an adjective into a noun, well, it just sticks in the craw .... "Find your extraordinary"  is the dumb, illiterate slogan of the University of Hull¹. With such a stupid motto it comes as little surprise that the English course at this establishment has slipped down to 75th in subject ranking. This is a sorry fall indeed for a department that was once one of the leading English departments in the country (well it was when Margot got her First there, way back when we were all a lot younger). It should also not surprise anyone that the university's overall ranking is 81st though this is a rise of 13 places from last year (source The complete university guide : the Guardian has the place ranked 106!). The university has already had to make £15 million cutbacks and now announces a further £25 million. Clearly all that building of student residential accommodation was not cheap (I've seen a figure of £28.5 million for one block alone; though the loss of a cricket pitch is beyond calculation...) and a new sports centre didn't exactly come free (£17 million) and there's the undisclosed costs of sponsoring the UK's Olympic Team (Team GB) (Why on earth? Just why? Bonkers!) which leads to the Vice Chancellor saying the “plummeting league table results are “untenable””  (really?) and things will get worse before they improve (if they ever do). 

Now it really should not have come as such a surprise that the expansion of this place was a bubble that could not grow forever; that massive expenditure might not bring in the revenue expected. The university, along with many others, has overestimated revenue: in short the result, as Micawber could have told them, is misery ... and cuts (approaching 10% of spending)  to staff and courses will only reduce teaching quality, feeding back to lower student intake and so on ... The intention is to have a smaller but better University; well smaller is easily done; better is much harder to achieve and does not automatically follow cutbacks.

I find it extraordinary (that much abused adjective again) that anyone would choose to come to this place let alone pay at least £9,250 per year in tuition fees plus living costs and leave with debts of £40,000 for a piece of paper that says you have met the academic approval of the University of Hull (whoop! whoop!). So let me tell you that, extraordinarily, 16,000 students are enrolled here. I wish them well.


¹I wonder if the U of H knew, I'm sure it did due diligence (didn't it?), that "Find your extraordinary" is the title of one of those odd books designed to spur entrepreneurs onto bigger and better things. It has the subtitle "Dream Bigger, Live Happier, and Achieve Success on Your Own Terms" (no really it does!)... You'd think entrepreneurs would not have time to read such tosh but then again business folk have put the U of H in its present parlous position so maybe it's required reading. You can find this essential guide on Amazon and suchlike places and no, I'm not putting up a link, go find you own extraordinary

Dialogue of the deaf

On Monday this week our House of Commons huffed and puffed and denied the Government's motion to have an election on December 12. On Tuesday, the very next day, our House of Commons met and over a period of several hours, with votes to see if amendments could be put forward (passed),  said amendments (to let 16 year olds and EU nationals vote in the election!!!???) then rightly rejected by Mr Deputy Speaker, then finally and solemnly passed a bill by an overwhelming majority to allow an election on ... December 12. 

So the great conversation will begin, or rather the uncivil shouting match will continue, with neither side listening to the other, cue much media bias, expect revelations about the PM's private life, about the Labour leader's senility, how the NHS will be sold to the USA, how Labour will turn the UK into Venezuela ...  all very nice and all no doubt true. But there is really only one issue: Leaving the god forsaken European Union as soon as possible or letting the possibility of leaving slide into the mire of Labour and Liberal Democrat betrayal. So, though I cannot possibly vote Conservative myself, I hope for a thumping great Tory landslide, a clear majority to get the UK out once and for all. Vote Boris!

I have shown these two distant friends before here and here.

Leaf Fall

A little seasonal colour here on Cottingham Road, near the University.

An old wife's tale

 "Tid, Mid, Misere; Carlin, Palm, Pace-Egg Day"

I sometimes think folk invent things behind my back, while I'm not looking new traditions spring up, fully formed, that I'd never ever heard of. So imagine my suspicions when after looking up what the devil a Carlin Pea might be, and why this unbecoming little shop should proclaim itself to be the home thereof, a whole new-to-me north-of-England 'tradition' appeared out of the virtual mist. 

The short version is that Newcastle-upon-Tyne (a city someways to the north of Hull, inhabited by amiable troll like folk who grunt to each other in a dialect (known for no good reason as Geordie) so impenetrable that outsiders grimace and ask for translators to help with normal intercourse... but I digress... ) was under siege by some Scottish army or other (there were so many back in the day, the day being 1644 and the war being the Civil War ), the populace were all dropping off with hunger when a ship from Norway (of all places!) or was it France? (seems more likely given the politics of the time) came up the bonny Tyne laden with dried, black peas and saved the day and lifted the siege (I assume the Geordies didn't share their good fortune with the Scots). Now all this happened on the fifth Sunday in Lent, known, apparently (well I didn't know) as Carlin Sunday. Hence Carlin peas, hence a 'tradition' in the North-East of England of eating these peas on the fifth Sunday of Lent. Now, I was brought up in the NE of E and spent my first eighteen years there, you'd think this nonsense might have passed by me at some time, but nope ... this is all news to me. Not that a meal of softened black quasi-mushy peas gently sautéed in butter or dripping or what have you has much appeal, but it would have been nice to have been offered ...

Which is all well and good but leaves unanswered, why Carlin Sunday? I mean 'Carlin' is old Norse for an old woman, or a crone, (it's French for a pug but that is by the by) ... Old Wife's Sunday seems a bit far fetched.

 

Yet More Driffield Amusements

Driffield, let's be honest, is not a big place. A visitor would be stretched to say it had more than one street, named rather sweetly as Middle Street. Now Middle Street is not to be mocked; it is long enough to have two halves: Middle Street North and Middle Street South. But the visitor need not worry about such quaintness, Driff has one street and most everything is on it. So let us just say that we are at the southern end of the strip and here's the Butcher's Dog, which I assume is a public house of some sort. I post only because I think the sign writing is superb ... I don't go in pubs these days, haven't for years. I'm told that now you can't smoke in them they reek of farts, sweat and stale beer ... delightful!

But what is that piano keyboard peeking out on the left? Why it's nothing less than a singing barber ...

Now this has three of my pet hates all in one window: Hallowe'en (boring commercialised Yankee reimport of a Scottish export), the Beatles (vastly overrated crud) and Elvis (just plain emetic yuck from the get go!). So well done  them! Barbers, with or without singers,  I also haven't been in since even longer than pubs. 

Mortimer's Warehouses

Mortimer's warehouses close by the canal and Riverhead in Driffield are no more; well the buildings are still there but the business has moved on and up to an out of town industrial estate. The which is good news for the company and will be a relief regarding traffic but left a bit of a headache: what to do with Grade 2 listed buildings? From what I can glean money has arrived in the form of a National Lottery grant to make some form of heritage centre. Well good luck with that and so long as that familiar old sign stays I'll be happy.

I've no idea who JG was.


The Weekend in Black and White is here.

Almost Moorhens

Moorhens (Gallinula chloropus) are very common birds on waterways in these parts. This one is a juvenile as it lacks the bright red beak with a yellow tip and the bluish tinge to the plumage. Normally they run away at the first sign of my camera but this couple on the banks of the Driffield canal seemed not to mind.