The Whalebone...

Felt dog rough these past few days. If there was any resale value in mucus, I could go into production. Wound up in Hull, parked next to the marina, and got a lot of writing done. There’s a special satisfaction in getting the words down even when my head is spinning. And I got pix of Hull, as I walked out of the city, keeping as close as possible to the tidal mudbanks of the River Hull. In the middle of this post-industrial wasteland - all graffiti, razor wire and alsatians - I found a wonderfully welcoming pub, the Whalebone. I sat next to a woodburning stove, nursing a pint, feeling that life wasn't so bad after all…