That old triangle

I started the month off with an abandoned street but did not have the space to include this empty pub also on that street. This is the Dram Shop that I posted before in happier times. There are more, many more, unoccupied buildings on this and other streets but to post them all would give the impression that Hull is the least prosperous place in the country and that would be a poor show, old sport ...

Left behind

Even the litter has a certain sculptural quality to it here in the City of Culture ...

The weekend in black and white is here.

Hull Fair again

So another year has passed and it's Hull Fair once again and as last year was so exciting we decided to try it again. But as the old Greek says you cannot step into the same river twice it was not so fun filled this second time around. Still we took far too many pictures and stayed a good deal longer than we were intending.

A fungal infection

Everything has its 'day' these days from poets to smiles and even cats. So it should be no surprise to learn that today is UK Fungus Day when all things mucid and mycological are celebrated. There's a truly irritating video "celebrating the importance of fungi in every aspect of our lives" here. My knowledge of fungi identification is somewhat limited so the the most I'll say about the two specimens I've posted is that they are both bracket fungi, probably a Ganoderma of some some sort, and they can't be doing those trees any good at all.

A load of codswallop

I don't know about culture (that's probably not come out the way I meant it) but I do know there's a tidal wave of propaganda filling the streets of this incomparable town. And, as any student of physics should know, a wave moves nothing forward but simply shifts stuff up and down often causing destruction as it passes through. Anyhow the hunky hipster fisherman dressed in waterproofs and a sou'wester doing something unspeakable to a dead cod has surely got to win some sort of award for camp cliché of the year. More of this please!

Smile, damn you

I was going to say that today, unlike yesterday, is poets day but then I find that October 7 is Happy World Smile Day! Spread that Joy so it comes back and hits you in the gob.

The weekend in black and white is (thankfully) smiling at us from here.

"A Rumoured City"

Today is National Poetry Day. Yeah, my reaction was 'so what' as well. A whole day of poetry really? ...wake me when it's over. Hull lays claim to being a city of poetry so I thought I'd post Margot's poem about Hull written a few years ago when she used to be a "Hull Poet"; she's given up on all the tomfoolery of poetry, as she calls it, these days. Anyway here goes; it's one of her more cheerful poems, there's hardly any blood in it all ...

 "A Rumoured City"

This is where the poets come to die;
like elephants in their legendary graveyard
they leave their bones, their teeth, but nothing
so rare as ivory.

You know all the stories...
Two of them shared one wife:
one tried to sell his gold tooth, being thirsty:
another drowned in marriage and normality:
a few fled in panic and never dared look back.

You think of it as human, this city.
You think of it as a woman -
decked with flowers, crannied with docks
whose waters have a female, secret smell.

At first she seems to beckon,
to offer you the freedom of her byways,
to twine her streets around you
in a mistletoe embrace.
But her hosts are dependant on her;
they cannot escape, they forget to try,
they learn to love her as she drains them.

Her choice of iconography betrays her.
Here at the place where her heart beats hardest
two copper statues, corroded green -
one a bare-breasted Amazon
threatening with a lethal trident;
the other sexless, nameless, hooded
and draped like death's unbearable face.

You penetrate the vampire streets;
twilight coils you in its caress.
You think of giving it another year
since the city seems to fit you like a glove
and the docks possess your imagination
when sunset shows them brimming with blood.

                                                       Margot K Juby

A Rumoured City was an anthology brought out some thirty five or so years ago; a collection of stuff (some duff some not so duff) by the then "new poets from Hull", a few of them are dead now or left Hull years ago. A Hull poet, it seems, does not have to live in the place. You can get a copy from here but it'll cost you at least £82! Ouch!