Hull Fair 08

Hull Fair is the largest, and oldest traditional fair in Europe. By largest, I mean that it covers a huge area of the city, and by oldest, I mean that it is much older than Canada. Older by at least seven hundred years. Which is about how long the "Escalator", a ride that self and RHB decided to attend, lasted, at least subjectively.

The Fair proper - ie the bit where travelling carnies take money from punters - feels a bit like Coney Island in it's heyday, or at least it feels how I think Coney Island would have felt. It is noisy, brash, extremely colourful, loud and a thing that you go to just because other people go there. But there is another side to Hull Fair, in that it co-incides with 'traveller' Parliaments. Outside town, the four 'traveller' sites expand massively, and spontaneous sites arise wherever possible. I would use the word 'Gypsy' to describe 'traveller' but political correctness has told me that I am not allowed to describe these people as such. This is despite the fact that real Gypsies, or Romanies, do refer to themselves as Gypsies. Adding to the confusion is that the Gypsy culture has been added to by a bunch of New Age hippies, drop outs and people seeking an alternative lifestyle.

The Gypsy Parliaments sound fascinating: there is horse trading (literally), dispute resolution, weddings, divorces and social gatherings, all of which outsiders are excluded from. These events occur not in the Funfair but in the camps that spring up outside and around Hull during the Fair. It is a mysterious and unconnected world, dramatically removed from the Ivory Tower of academia that we can now both claim to inhabit, and while I am thinking "Vive La Difference!", I am also thinking that I would not want to share this world for all the tea in China, even the Fairtrade stuff. Caravans are just too cold.

Me, RHB and Chris descend on the Fair just at the right time: it is shutting down for the night and there is an air of disreputableness about everyone and the rides which are still open. We wander the aisles, and I win a Light Sabre by hooking little duckies with a magnet. Chris and Nel disappear into a house that advertises "Get lost in the maze" for so long that I think they're kidnapped, and later we all have a go on the Dodgem cars. Among all of this, RHB and self inexplicably decide to go for a ride on some thing that looks like an eighty foot long pendulum. As we discover, about a minute after getting on the ride, this is becuse it IS an eighty foot pendulum. After about three minutes of G forces and stomach churning action, I am getting a little bored, while RHB just wants it to stop, so we are both grateful as it settles into the dismount position. Unfortunately, the roustabouts decide that as we are the last ride of the night (or something) they will give us a bit longer, so the ride takes off again, flinging us into the air with gay abandon. By this time, my jocular comments to Red are becoming a little forced, because I've suddenly become mindful that Hull is an epicentre of subsidence, and as each swing reaches it's apogee, the ride gives a little lurch, and I'm picturing two little orphan cats. Red just wants it to stop. Eventually it does, and we get off. Surpassed only by buying Large Villas, it is a significant 'What were we thinking?' moment.

We have missed the previous Fair (last year) and unless someone like Chris comes again at the same time next year (she is a great observer of nuance in crowds, and sees stuff we just do not notice) this may well be our last HullFair. It is definitely interesting, full of sulky teenagers, wandering families and a whole strata of human society who just look lost, and would do no matter what environemnt they find themselves in. AT the same time, we have great fun, as we are all avid people watchers. The people that attend Hull Fair are divided into a few categories. These are:

1). Teenagers on dates
2). Teenagers who wish they were on dates
3). Teenagers who try to give the appearance that they could have been on a date if they had wanted to but are having fun anyway
4). Amateur photographers trying to get gritty photos of the 'real people'
5). Bloggers
6). Families pushing pushchairs. This is the strangest category, mainly because if the intention is to give the child a sensory experience, they could have saved themselves a long bus ride (or difficult park) by just strapping their bambino to the back of a friendly neighbourhood dog and driven it (and said child) into their local pub during Karoake night. For the child the experience would have been the same.

Nevertheless, I would have to say that Hull Fair is one of those brilliant social anomalies that should continue forever, unadvertised, un-branded and MacDonald's free.

Hull Fair 08

Next day, on the local news, a report tells of how the ride we had been on got stuck when a couple of guide cables snapped. Minds are made up - Hull Fair 08 may well be the only time the event appears in this infrequent report.

The Golden Compass - Movie Review

Self and Boffin went out last night. This in itself is significant, as it represented the first night out in downtown Hull we have experienced since we moved here. The movie was great - lots and lots of animals, action, weird machines and special effects. Good story too, with a fair representation of the books main themes.

After the movie we decide to go for a quiet drink, near the harbour, another virginal experience for us. The scene in downtown Hull's drinking quarter is hard to describe. Most of the females were wearing mini Santa outfits that exposed legs, midrift and shoulders, accompanied by very high heels and enough make-up to make the average clown look incomplete. The males are 90% skinhead, burly, loud rumbustious and slightly threatening - big gangs of them wandering the streets like gatherings of adolescent baboons. It is an exclusively white display, and the near harbour pubs that look cosy and welcoming by day are turned into infernos of flashing lights, crap music and cheap perfume.

After wandering the streets for a short while, amazed and in a daze, we find a quietish pub. It is not particularly pleasant place, but it does for a quick discussion about the movie, and the scene we've just witnessed, which rivals the movie in terms of it's unreality. We agree the movie was great, but notice that the age range of the people who are getting abandoned in their drunkenness, pissing in doorways and are shepherded by a massive police prescence (in the form of four van loads of fully riot-equipped squads parked at a major intersection) is our age range. This is'nt Laguna Beach Fresher's Week, or Daytona, this is mostly forty-year olds displaying themselves.

The theory we develop is that the nightclub culture that we both thoroughly embraced as early twenty-somethings has become a way of life for these people, uninterrupted by adulthood. It is unrecognisable as a night out in any Canadian city that either of us lived in or visited - Halifax, Toronto, Montreal, London, Moncton, St John, St Johns, Ottowa, Hamilton, Sarnia - the activities on display in Hull seem to be shouting, pushing, pissing, crying, arguing, screaming and very little laughing, smiling and talking. Cafe Society this is not.

We get home safely and take the cats for a walk, describing the movie to them, and telling Toshack off for breaching the "You do'nt pounce on your sister when she's doing her toilet" Rule. It is nice to see some normal behaviour.

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

Those of you who watched the footage from the first Gulf War might be forgiven for thinking that Transpennine had added to their calumnities by not only getting the timetable wrong, but had also now committed the further error of depositing me, via a time loop, in a war zone instead of at Hull's Paragon Station at 18.38. But no, the following clips are from Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawke's Night, November 5th, and the proceeding week.


The volume of Fireworks let off must be considerable, the barrage has continued from nightfall till about 23.00 every evening for the last week. A possible Career Option (No23) occurs to me, but I wonder how the request would be received at Jobcentre Plus if I enquired whether help and advice might be forthcoming in the area of Making Explosions.


The cats have been confined to Barracks during evening hours.This advice was first proferred by a friendly Policeman, advice I totally ignored until a "banger" went off about twenty feet from where Tosh was practising the Classic Pounce. Tosh's Pouncing Practice resembles Little Kanga's Jumping Practice in the Sandpit - a not quite grown up replication of an adult behaviour, and as such is very cute - the target (usually a leaf) is spotted, the moggie crouches low, bum wiggling until it reaches a critical frequency of wiggle, then the Pounce. Usually the leaf escapes unharmed.

After ignoring the Policeman's advice, I took Tosh out for his first nightly constitutional, but the firework startled him mid-pounce. He ran off in every conceivable direction and disappeared for three hours while fireworks exploded in the sky around him.


After I found him, very scared, I decided to keep the cats indoors for a few days until Guy Fawkes Festival Week is done. Guy Fawkes Night used to be, in my childhood, one evening involving some Sparklers, a pathetic Catherine Wheel and maybe two rockets(all supervised by my father, wearing a full protective asbestos suit) is over. Tosh was also quite scared by the incident, although as with all cats, is now more determined than ever to get out, especially because he cannot. I don't know who's behaviour is more contrary - cats wanting to venture outside in the full knowledge that it will be a terrifying, dangerous experience, or humans celebrating so exuberantly the failure of an act of terrorism.

Halloween 2007

Halloween Party last night at Will McGowan's. Will is a post-grad student at Hull. We've met once before and he's a lot of fun. Nel and I walk the short distance from our apartment to Will's house. The walk is noteworthy, mostly because despite looking 'interesting' the locals just ignore us completely as we walk down the street.



Like most University parties, the mix of nationalities is a massive contrast to my daily work - Hungarian, Irish, Scottish, Italian, Colombian, English, Icelandic and German. We all have one thing in common though, which is an ability to get thoroughly drunk very quickly - a skill that all Universities seem to excel in teaching.

The real Halloween is Wednesday of the coming week.

Hull Landscapes

Admittedly a bit of a filler, this entry because we're pretty tired.

Just another little tour round Hull. INcidentally in a recent comprehensive survey, Hull has improved on it's ranking as the worst place in Britain to live. Hull is now 2nd worst place to live.



Incidentally the pictures can be made bigger by frantically clicking until the full screen is achieved. At least, that's what I do.

Not About Transpennine Express

Imagine two middle aged people having a normal conversation on a train at 6.30pm. This is the Hull accent. Canadians listening to the following three clips should remember that they allege having difficulty understanding me when I arrived in Canada. It is slightly easier to hear with headphones, but still incomprehensible, apart from the swearing.