Hull

I’m sat on the Pride of Hull nursing a Leffe. All around is the sound of Dutch. There’s an empty stage in front of me with an electric drum kit and a sunburst Stratocaster. It all looks ominous. I really hope there isn’t a band on, at least not any time soon. No one has ever heard of a group that made it big after gigging on a ferry (especially not P&O’s Pride of Hull!). And for good reason; they are notoriously un-tuneful.

It was just over three and a half hours ago when I left Wigan; which is really not bad going all things considered. All in all, it was a particularly uneventful journey. There was traffic on the M60 (is the Pope Catholic? Do bears shit in the woods?), but apart from that, it was plain sailing the whole way.

I did, however, need a wee. And it was precisely at the point that I got stuck in the infamous M60 traffic that Nature started to make its voice heard. Sods law! I did, it must be said, drink two cups of tea in quick succession before leaving. But, on any other motorway at any other point, I could’ve pulled over and relieved myself. Not on M60 whilst sat in traffic! There was nothing I could do, I just had to grin and bear it. Torture, it was.

But, after about 20 minutes of crawling, I’d cleared the M60 and I had Yorkshire within my sights. For that reason, I didn’t stop. I kept going and going and going. 70 miles, 60 miles, 50. I still needed a wee -- really badly needed a wee -- but, inexplicably, I kept going. I passed countless service stations and just carried on, Hull bound. In fact, I nearly made it all the way. I was just seven miles off Hull and nine off the port, when,as if from nowhere, the Humber Bridge revealed itself upon the horizon. Well, I had to stop and take a picture. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

I pulled off the carriageway and meandered about an industrial estate, searching for a place where I could stop for a minute and take a picture of the suspension bridge. Well, about half the mile up the road the industrial units gave way to a clearing of trees. Lo and behold, there was a car park too. I stopped, found a bush, did my thing, then made my way through the woods down to the shoreline.

Wow, what an impressive bridge. Not quite the Forth Bridges, but impressive nonetheless. It’s a shame, though, they painted it brown. There is a lot to be said about being understated, but a bridge of that calibre deserves to be, at least, a deep red or something.

Anyway, I got my picture and made my way back to the car. Thankfully, it was still there. Should it not have been, the thief would have got more than he bargained for - a car full of life's basic essentials plus a 50Kg bag of apples and a life's supply of toilet roll (thanks Mum!). Feeling lighter and significantly more nimble than I had done just two minutes earlier, I climbed back in the Up and travelled the last few miles to the port.

I got to the port and the heavens opened. I wanted to get out and take a picture of the Pride of Hull, but the rain prevented me from doing so. And, besides, there was a burly looking man in high-vis directing me through the gates-of-no-return. Before I knew it, I was on board, the whole thing taking just 15 minutes.

Now I’m on board and feeling a bit sea sick. So much in life is psychological: we haven’t even set sail. Just the act of sitting on a boat is enough to make me feel a bit dizzy. Then again, this Belgian beer is strong stuff. And that reminds me, I must got and buy another before this knock-off pub band turn up.Read more