Milk and Alco-Hull

One fine Sunday morning, I set off to Hull to see it's incumbent Aylesbury. The car had been freshly fixed from a coolant leak and I was keen to give it some miles and a chance to settle in, or at worst develop a fault for a trip which wasn't time critical.

The weather was good and the sun was out, which made a pleasant drive towards Hull from Nottingham, made even better by listening to a Dr Feelgood Greatest Hits, which hit the last track as I was pulling into Hull's Aylesbury Grove.

In the Sunshine I had a bit of a wonder up and down the road. 1920's housing, terraced mostly, kept in reasonably good nick.

Some boys were playing a game, which I will call hoofball, and it needs a bit of describing, another word would be foottennis. The boys were standing in two gardens separated by a fence. They passed a ball back and forth over the fence until the other could not return it, or the ball went 'out'. Thus a point was scored, and the game restarted. I have fond memories of playing this game, in a tennis court in a small French village with my cousins.

Hull, being UK city of culture this year, I ventured down into the city centre to have a look and see what was cultural. Apart from the usual ScoobyDoo type high street and surrounding areas with repeating shops that you find in any city centre, there was very little. Perhaps the culture was roosting. Perhaps it had gone partying in an exclusive bijou island, or perhaps Sunday mornings aren't the time to be cultural. More set the washing machine, mow the lawn, head to church, read the paper, drain the swamp type times.

Culture looked upon by community police officers and some members of the public.

I wandered around the Ferens museum, which was pleasant, I was especially impressed with the Spencer Tunick works. Well the works didn't impress me most. The video of how it was done gives such an insight into the psychology of the people who participated in it. How they coped with possibly embarrassment of public nudity, stopped being too cold and even how they made sure they were fully covered in 'blue'. Following wondering around the museum, I had a nice bap/cob/wig/barm/bun/sarnie/nudger/stotty/blaa with some chicken, coriander, chilli, lemon and salad. Then headed back to the car and back to Nottingham in the oncoming rain, adding an extra element of the sublime, driving under the Humber Bridge.

Other names for this story:

The incredible Hull

Will you Hull'd my hand

Highway to Hull

To Hull and back

I'm sHull shocked

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Hull'door