Heaven or Hull

Hull !

The city that used to inspire dread in the less savoury denizens of northern England. And those who'd never been pleasured by its eccentric delights.

"From Halifax, Hull and Hell, spare us oh Lord!", they used to say in the old days.

"Kingston-upon-Hull"!

The given name for that city, straddling the luscious brown lips of the Hull, where it gushes rhythmically into the watering mouth of the Humber estuary, adding it's distinct flavour to the life juice of the Humberside. Like a room full of rugger players, the Humberside thrives on it's notoriety. Rough, ready and exciting.

But Hull is different… perhaps its strong continental links make it a damp oasis, in the parched yellow sands of Englands' belly.

Hull may catch you off guard, the first time. So very unlike a yeller, when you brace yourself with a couple of bottles of VK, and hope for a surprise… which rarely comes.

After a diet of dry white meat, it’s like strongly flavoured, moist, dark, as it slips in, thick, slick and uncut. You can almost taste the blood. And find yourself gratefully grasping onto the unexpected juiciness with both arms. And legs. Drawing it in… greedily lapping up the burst of milk and honey. Taking a deep fill of that warm cinnamon and spice.

Hull… University city, sea-gate to Europe, birth place of William Wilberforce and home of the "Deep". Like a quirky kiss, it leaves you thinking about her long after, searching for meaning. Dreaming of more.

Well, at least that's what the students who keep returning, say… that is, the ones who haven't only because they flunked their exams.

A flamboyantly gyrating union of youth and maturity… modern Hull is a fusion of the old and new towns.. the result of an unpredicted synergy… an Electric Boogaloo of Ceroc, R&B and D&B.

Like a chicken to the vagiterians and meat and potato eaters, they all want a taste of her broth. From her museums, jazz cafes, outdoor concerts, ancient pubs, marinas, docks, clubs, restaurants and shops. She draws them all in. The students, beatniks, philosophers, politicos, dockers, sailors, fishers, yachters. And the tourists and those other weird and wonderful people as well.

And with that heightened sense of relaxation and oneness that tells a tale on a leftist haven, Hull lingers with you long after. Like a gushers scent on your face, the morning after a shower. Bringing back delectable memories each time it wafts past the nostrils of your consciousness, trying as you must, to return to your mundane existence.

All this makes Hull a heaven for a hunt. They live in plain sight; seen, without being seen. Her fangs, that will sink in to the hilt, and let the juices run free, until the scabbard's full, the blade dripping with satiation.