Sarah Ferguson was 'ere...

Relocation, relocation...

We've moved. All the way from east Hull to west Hull. What a journey. A return journey. All the way across the big murky river. We are tired. We cannot control the central heating and the temperature is tropical. Finn likes his new home. He seems to enjoy living out of boxes. That's four-and-a-half-month-olds for you. Such is the wireless broadband in the new place that, for some reason, we have to sit right next to the router to get any kind of signal. Which, given that we're living out of boxes and all the missing underwear repercussions that entails, should probably be the least of our concerns. In the three nights that we have been here we have totally embraced the local takeaway food outlets. Tonight was chip shop night. The fanciness of our new (there goes the!) neighbourhood can, perhaps, be judged by the fact that my fish and chips were presented in a big long Piscean coffin of a box.

Clocking off...

We walked past the Hull Guildhall at ten minutes to three this afternoon and glanced upwards. We're used to Hull City Council trying to pull a fast one so it didn't come as too much of a surprise to see that they'd put the clock forward quite a few hours before they should have. The city's clock-winding celebrity David Stipetic must have been after an early night to compensate for his lost 60 minutes.

Reduced to rubble...

Farewell to another chunk of Hull's heritage, as what didn't go in the controlled explosion at Spiller's Mill last year is finally nibbled away by heavy plant. Anything old and smacking of the filth of industry gets demolished around these parts. It's just plain wrong.

Dirty regeneration...

The redevelopment of Island Wharf in Hull has turned a prime riverside location with stunning views over the Humber estuary - a place ideal for a residential development - into a big bloody raft of glass-obsessed identikit, bland Noughties (and currently mostly empty) office space. It includes a World Trade Centre (or Center, if we're to use the brand correctly) at One Humber Quays and, erm, other stuff of absolutely no interest to the majority of people in the city. Ask the people of Orchard Park, Preston Road, Greatfield, Bransholme, Gipsyville et al whether this is the kind of regeneration the city needs and brace yourself for a quizzical look - if you're lucky - or, more appropriately, a smack in the mouth. It is nice to see that they can't even look after the Humber Quays sign, which is covered in a nice load of runny oxidisation and as rusty as the minds of those people who decide to build this shit. Vacant, high cost office space? Let's build some more! And when we can't fill that? Let's build some more!

Life's an elevator...

Today we entertained ourselves by taking Finn into a variety of elevators in Hull city centre. My, we certainly know how to have fun. And, as you can see, Finn enjoyed himself too! We followed this up with some strolling by the river in the unseasonable warmth and a spot of lunch darn the pub. In a typical Hull scene, the unseasonable warmth resulted in a bare chested unicyclist pedaling around Trinity Square. "Is that a two wheeler, mummy?" asked a small boy that didn't know one from two.

Hull: always the bridesmaid...

Second worst place to live, then. Although Kirstie and Phil don't appear to have been to Pocklington, which I can recommend if you're looking for places to avoid. Although it's a town, so probably doesn't count. Anyway, prior to the announcement, we got this build-up from Kirstie: "Where in the UK is life so terrible that you're only one away from being in the top spot of Worst Places to live?"
Why, Hull of course! Phil informed us that we'd nabbed the number two position thanks to our "terrible crime stats" and that Hull had been going through a particularly soggy time of late with its "unprecedented flooding" (and precedented flooding is what, exactly?). They did point out the £100m investment in various "facilities" and, bless Kirstie, she added: "Poor old Hull, it's had a bit of a rough year. Perhaps we should give the residents of Hull a wide berth." Typically, Hull residents sent some smart and insightful texts, including Mark Hudson, who informed all other Location, Location, Location viewers that "Hull rocks! Where else can you buy a pint for £1.59?" Then Kirstie started reading another one from Hull, that obviously contained some filth because she had to stop reading and moved swiftly on...
Hull, then. It's no Middlesborough.

Tags: Hull

Taboo...

A discussion about language. “Is every other word a fuck? You’ve met these people. Is every other word a fuck?”

In the male-dominated world of work, well, at least the low rent places I’ve found myself over the years, every other word is fuck. It’s what men do. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck a duck. It’s not a sign of inarticulacy, it’s not a sign of vulgarity, it’s just...well, it just is. Occasional bloodys, buggers and bastards are acceptable. In moderation. Apparently. If I’d swanned around building sites using the word bugger...well,I suspect I’d’ve been buggered by the bloody bastards.

Aye, discussions about language. They’re enough to make you want to tell censorious people to fuck off.

But...y’know...maybe I have more in common with Sarah Silverman than stunning good looks and perhaps my writing is littered with filth for the same reasons that SS’s act is littered with, well, disgraceful muck and taboos. " [it’s] not a conscious choice,” said SS in an interview with The Guardian, “When I was three, my dad taught me all these swears, y'know: bitch, bastard, damn, shit, and I would yell it at the supermarket, and he'd die laughing. And I got strong reactions, one way or another, from swearing at three. I think you get addicted to that attention."

Tags: language, Hull, Sarah Silverman

Fair enough...

Didn't get round to posting this dazzling image when I planned. This is as close as I got to Hull Fair this year - just a passing blur from a Northern train taking me from Beverley to Hull. I didn't miss the nausea although I wouldn't've minded a bag of Carver's chips, a nice greasy burger and a toffee apple. Must try harder next year.

Two old women on the bus: "My niece came to have a look at the new shopping centre. She thought it was bloody rubbish."
"It is bloody rubbish."
"You're right. So she's gone back home to Manchester and that's what she'll be telling everyone there - that new shopping centre in Hull's bloody rubbish. They got shops there already in Manchester, see?"
Meanwhile, I had a strange moment in Hull's transport interchange the other day, when I had a few minutes to spare and started looking around. I thought to myself, actually, this is all quite impressive. Unfortunately, Phil and Kirstie off of Location, Location, Location will be revealing that Hull is the second worst place to live in the country tomorrow night, while we're also developing a reputation for drinking a tad too much around here, so the renaissance is getting a reality check. Actually, Hull's inclusion on the Location, Location, Location hit list is a tad baffling when you read their own words: "Hull makes a return to the list as the 2nd worst place to live, following it being declared the “worst” place in 2005, but then improving enough to not even make the top 10 last year" and suggests a bit of arbitrary sticking pins in a map slice of randomness to me. Still, all nice publicity for the show and that's all that matters...

In other news, here's a film - I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With - that, title aside, has all the makings of a Killing Time favourite, starring two of my favourite people - Jeff Garlin (of Curb Your Enthusiasm fame) and the luverly Sarah Silverman, who should feel lucky that we are separated by a rather large ocean, otherwise I would be stalking her.

Tags: Hull Fair, Hull, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Sarah Silverman

The bear truth...

Friend phones me to arrange a meeting while I'm out on the lifeboat. I phoned back and left a message: "I know it sounds like some crazy Billy Liar style fantasy but I couldn't pick the phone up when you called because I was on a lifeboat not far from the North Sea." Quite possibly the only time in my life that I'll ever say that.

Walked through Hull's fancy new transport interchange. A strange young man was battering seven bells of shit out of a public telephone as two security guards watched him and then turned their backs. "You're doing a great job there, gents, ignoring someone who is deliberately damaging a piece of equipment right before your eyes. Are you going to stop him?" "Have you got a bus to catch? Go on, get on it," was the rather disappointing response from this chocolate fireguard pair of uniformed imbeciles.

Hull's retail renaissance is certainly picking up pace. Not only the st but, brace yourselves, a brand spanking new mega-sized Home Bargains in the city centre. Quality, as the youth say.
And now this, a new store for Goodmawe Bears. Which is, surely, worthy of as much publicity as the local meeja can throw at it and, I expect, all Hull bloggers will be putting up their own posts. Goodmawe Bears are 'Hull's leading bear specialist'. Which you can't really argue with. I know of no other bear specialists around these parts and, should I ever need any specialist knowledge if, say, I'm fighting a bear or getting a bear to dance, I now know who to turn to.

Tags: lifeboats, Hull, St Stephen's development, bears

Three quarters of a century...

Mother's birthday today - she has reached the grand old age of 75, a golden age where you can simply say "I'm old" and get away with all manner of silliness, which she does, including saying the most outrageous things under the guise of "speaking her mind". We ate and drank and passed her some presents, which she approved of. Then we had a slow dawdle back through the city centre, returning to the st shopping outlet. A few days on and more things have opened and it seemed, well, a bit better than the first time around. Gangs of men were putting some plant life in place to make this cavernous glass-covered space look a bit more welcoming, although they're up against it. I also came away terribly impressed by the footwear available for cuddly toys in Build-A-Bear - if only they'd been available in a size nine. Explaining Hull's new transport interchange to mother was a fraught affair but she got on the right bus in the end, bag of birthday goodies and some treats for her yappy little dog Alfie in tow.

Picked up the script then rather swiftly put it back down again, my creativity nullified by one of the intermittent black clouds of doom that follow me around. The catalyst to further work will, I'm certain, be my thrilling lifeboat ride on Saturday morning, which I've started looking forward to enormously. I have to check tomorrow if I can take some camera equipment with me - if so I'll share the old seasick ride with you if you're interested. I hope you're all well.

Tags: On A Shout, Hull, mum

St...st...st...stuttering start...

It's finally open then. Well, I say open, the actual St Stephen's shopping centre - sorry, mixed-use scheme's - open, but there's a distinct lack of, erm, shops. True, there's a few leading names up and running but there's also a lot of retail outlets still having the finishing touches added and quite a few units 'under offer' or still up for grabs. Which is all a bit anti-climatic. I can't say that retail excites me sufficiently to start frothing at the mouth just because we now have an H&M, Zara and Build-a-Bear to call our own. I don't care for a Gala Bingo taking up so much prominent floor space. I've been in enough large supermarkets to not even bat an eyelid at the sight of another Tesco.

Nice and bright and airy it may be but St Stephen's lacks anything close to the damp patch of sexual excitement-inducing WOW! factor. It has the distinct look of a building designed by an architect with a bezier curve obsession and a drink problem. Which, at £200m, is something of a shame. According to the HDM, and I'm sure they're right, 40,000 people turned up on opening day. With that kind of footfall, it would have been nice if there'd been more to be impressed by - as it is, the gun's been jumped by a couple of months. They should've opened in November. And this from one of Hull's biggest fans - I want everything here to be great, the best, better than everywhere else. As it is, st is all hype and talk and brand and not a lot of substance. Yet. Fingers crossed it will play a part in Hull's renaissance.

Tags: Hull, Ferensway, St Stephen's development

Auto Mike...

Tonight, as I stood in the new transport interchange looking at a screen telling me where to catch my bus, I met a lovely young man called Auto Mike. Auto Mike's eyes are too close together. Auto Mike looked about 14 but, I would find out later, he is 24. Auto Mike, as the name almost but not quite suggests, is a professional mobile car valeter. He started valeting cars when he was 16. That's eight years of experience, which, in the 10 minutes we shared the same time and place, he attempted to convey in rapido detail. He also gave me his mobile phone number and offered to valet my car for a fiver. "What do you do for a living, sir?" asked Auto Mike. "I write." "I write too," said Auto Mike. "I have written 450 pages. It's a novel based on Excalibur." "Hasn't that already been done?" "It has," smiled Auto Mike, knowing something I didn't but was about to find out, "But I'm going to weave it around a story about buses." Ah, I thought, Auto Mike's completely and utterly mad. His uncle has a fleet of buses. "A fleet of buses?" "Well, three buses, actually, but one of them's a Routemaster. He won't let me clean his buses. They're worth a lot of money." Auto Mike kept asking me about my driving, so I asked him about his. "I don't drive. I get people to drive me around." "Isn't that a disadvantage when it comes to earning a living as a mobile car valeter?" "No. That's what being in business is all about." Auto Mike told me about his 'other' job, which is that of a car park attendent at a pub on Beverley Road. "I get paid ten pounds for doing that on Sundays," he said, proudly. Auto Mike showed me his shopping list of car cleaning products that he will be ordering from a company called Auto Glym. It was a very extensive list. He has a sliding scale of charges when it comes to valeting a car. If you drive a heap of junk, he will charge you accordingly. If, on the other hand, you drive an executive car, he'll push up the price. "30, 40 quid, summat like that." "You certainly seem to know what you're doing," I told Auto Mike. "Yes, yes I do. Lots of people tell me that." Lots of people tell Auto Mike that, of course, because he has the distinct look of a young man bordering on the certifiable. I like Auto Mike. I do hope I meet him again. I have his mobile number. I told him I would tell all my friends about him too. Then he got off the bus, stopping at the doors to engage the driver in a quick chat about bad driving in and around the new transport interchange.

Tags: cars, Hull, Auto Mike

When the dust settles...

Rather quiet in Queens Gardens today. Shame.

I have done a fair amount of watching this weekend - The Paddingtons may not have entered my field of vision as planned but I watched England win, I watched the X-Factor, I watched Hell's Kitchen. My, how I love that last one. Like Brian Dowling, I wished that Jim Davidson would just get the f**k out of the kitchen. But some people - Ziggy from Big Brother is another - just don't know how to quit, do they? They just talk about it, and then, unfortunately, stay. Jim, stood there in his suit reading from his notes and then sitting with a scycophantic Marco Pierre White (surely the last remaining Jim Davidson fan in existence) reminded me of quite a few people I've worked with over the years. I hate it here, I hate everything about it, I will say something I regret. Leave then. Say something you regret, it doesn't really matter. But they never do. I imagine that not only will Jim Davidson attempt to stay once he's been evicted (sometime soon, surely), he will also remain as they're striking the set and he'll still be there come the next series. In fact, he'll be haunting this show in the afterlife, where he'll also still be a racist and a homophobe and still be harping on about how the PC brigade did for him, rather than his tiny, ignorant mind.

Meanwhile, now the dust has settled over the riverside, you can see what a few high explosives can do to an old mill. Quite a nice clean break, quite a hefty pile of rubble, still a fair amount of building to blow up.

Tags: Hull, live music, Hell's Kitchen, reality tv

Rockin' aftermath...

As I said, East Park did rock and I hope it does again - and, indeed, that the Rocks event becomes a regular and prominent fixture on Hull's triflingly small music calendar. I enjoyed myself, I think the majority of the gathered throng did too. But modern-day Woodstock lovefest it wasn't. There was no mistaking that this was an event taking place in a city 40 years behind the pace set by yer Leeds and yer Madchesters et al. It was as if a good 50 per cent of the crowd had never been out of the house before, never mind witnessed live music at close quarters, such was their incapacity to have a good time that didn't revolve around having a fight with someone who'd looked at 'em a bit strange. Yeah, alcohol and sunshine is always going to result in casualties of some kind but must it always disengage brains quite so drastically as it does in Hull? There was an undercurrent of something-or-other by mid-afternoon, as a couple of gents started kicking a rugby ball indiscriminately at all and sundry (not, in itself, a crime, granted), managing to seriously upset the parents of very young children who'd almost caught the ball face first. That undercurrent remained. I witnessed a few incidents but, heck, I'm not a law enforcement officer, I don't begrudge anyone fun and we were in our own little coccoon of loveliness. Yet I'd also have expected the police presence, which, although not massive, was certainly prominent, to have had the odd quiet word in the necessary ears. Before things got nasty. But they didn't.

So there was the inevitable fight, which resembled something from the glorious, gory Altamont. People sure can kick when they're in a mob, can't they? And only after that incident did the uniformed classes decide to take matters seriously. Yet they, too, appear to have never been out of the house, never mind to a gig, resorting to the level of haphazard, clueless gig security not seen since the Angels looked after Mick and Keef at the aformentioned and very final end to the Sixties. Signalled to the odd moshing incident by some gents handling security at the front of the stage, the police would head in en-masse, never once finding their suspects but, from where I was standing, pissing off some people and amusing others by their ineptness. It was a big relief when The Paddingtons rounded off the night with Panic Attack that myself and eldest son hadn't been stabbed for pushing over a copper's hog. Gimme shelter in mind, we left the second lanky fashion guru Josh Hubbard placed his feedbacking guitar on the floor. Although I witnessed nothing myself and have neither heard, seen nor read any reports in the local meedja, I have it on good authority, from two police officers I spoke to this morning, that the evening really kicked off at the gig's close with a choice selection of fighting in the streets surrounding the park.
Wonderful. I'm sure the organisers will have no trouble getting a license to stage the event next year. Looking forward to Hull Flood Aid next week, a city centre open-air gig that may well be attended by the same bunch of immature bastards keen to spoil something that had "bloody good" written all over it.

Bye bye building #3 - the video...

Just in case you couldn't be there...

Bye bye building #2...

Farewell, then, to one part of Spillers Mill, a rather big thing on the Hull skyline and visible from the west stand of the KC Stadium. But not for much longer - the rest of it goes within the month. I watched from a small hill behind Cleveland Street. I think, from the ambulance that belted past me, the continuing road closures and some walkie-talkie action I overheard, that someone may well have been seriously hurt during this controlled demolition. No news, as yet, though from the local meedja.

Aw, nice building...

Going...

Going...

Going a bit more?

Still going?

Gone?

Gone.

A good thing...

East Park did rock. The Paddingtons were ace, the veg curry from The Lamp's mobile eatery equally satisfying, the sunshine and the PA surpassed our expectations. We shall discuss the rather poor policing of the event in a later entry.

Will the East rock?

Hull's a bit like Berlin back in the days of the wall. Plenty of concrete everywhere. Only we have a river instead of a wall, and Police Community Support Officers instead of the Stasi and traffic wardens instead of Checkpoint Charlie. The wall comes down today, without the need for David Hasselhoff to come and sing, and all those cool kids that hang out on Princes Avenue in their smart indie clothes will be making the trek over the river to watch East Park Rocks, headlined by everyone's little chums The Paddingtons. It's in East Park and it involves Hull's choicest bands and it's free. And the sun's shining. Heck, it might even be good! I shall let you know. I'm off to purchase some party snacks to make the day go by without hunger pangs. My only caveat is that the fake, advertising-led "ooh we're so cooool we're down with the kidz just don't tell everyone we're a part of the Hull Daily Mail, it's a secret, we're coooool, we're really coooool, we go clubbing, we're on myspace and bebo and buzznet and dontstayin and everything" Hull Vibe are involved. But, well, an event needs its sponsors, eh?

Talking of the river, I noticed the other day that some of the riverbank appeared to be sliding River Hullwards at the site of a new property development (more 'luxury' apartments) and next to the bridge we call North Bridge. Yesterday, they were making sure that the new building would be on the riverside rather than in the river by shoring the whole thing up.

As one building goes up another comes down, it seems, adding to the blitzkrieg skyline we so enjoy in these parts, and half of this beauty on the right goes the way of the controlled explosion tomorrow.

Pure drivel...

John Prescott and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer announce their respective departures on the same day? Coincidence? I don't think so. Indeed, I think they're doing a job exchange - super sub Solskjaer destined to be parachuted in as the next Hull East MP, Prescott, with his working knowledge of strikes, taking his rightful place in the Manchester United lineup.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, there's not much happening round these parts. Picture on the right is a spot of messy tagging we saw at the side of the River Hull on our weekend riverside walk. Went to see Rupert Creed's Slavers last Friday and enjoyed Rupert's leftfield take on the over-egged theme (at last, a piece of work that didn't get bogged down in old Willie Wilberforce) and the superb execution by the youth theatre cast, who had a lot of words to chew on and spit back out. Hark at me, I sound about as objective as Jeffrey Archer after a night out at the theatre.