I cut through the park mid-morning yesterday and was met by the peculiar site of a fun fair, fully installed, all ready to open today, but nobody around at all. Very eerie, it was. Time was when Hull only had the one fair a year. Now, there's one every couple of weeks. And perhaps trading standards could nab them for the juxtaposition of fun and fair. What's fun about it? Isn't it all hideously unfair that parents with young kids desperate to take up a seat in a spinning tea cup for 90 seconds should feel obliged to spend that cash earmarked for a utility bill on making their young 'uns happy and/or nauseous? Should the advertising read, instead, Big Fucking Rip Off Fair? Of course my grumpy old man viewpoint could be fuelled by my inability these days to stare at a fairground ride without feeling on the verge of vomiting over all and sundry. My, even the smell of diesel engines makes my stomach-a-chunder as I remember the dreaded night in 1983 when, as some wildly spinning contraption slowed to a stop, I felt unwell, glanced down and threw up all over my Adidas Ringos. As my walk continued I did actually meet three rather threatening canines tethered to incredibly elaborate mobile accommodation. But not a human in sight. Probably killed by their own greasy, over-priced fast food.
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