A Movie Plot plays out

In my favourite all time movie the dramatic ruse of mistaken identity is put to good effect.

It is not the first time that this has been the crux of a plot line or the key to a chain of events that subsequently play out on the big screen.

The film "Brazil"(1985) by Terry Gilliam has a character called Tuttle who single-handedly sets out to disrupt and usurp the huge and unwielding State Machine that rules the very Dystopian Society of a future time but very much in retrospective images and styles. The powers that be put out an order through the clunky and crude information channels to seek out and eliminate the elusive Tuttle,  a maverick repair and maintenance man, but unfortunately through a typographical mishap a completely innocent and inoffensive citizen by the name of Buttle is sought out, abducted and murdered.

On this premise the whole film revolves and it is a cinematic masterpiece.

Such is the fictionalised nature of the mistaken identity that I was totally shocked when the same scenario played out in real life just yesterday.

My work diary on that day had a couple of entries as part of my afternoon schedule.

One was a small and rather non-descript modern house in a suburb of the city where I am based and the other, in direct contrast, a character flat on the two upper floors of an historic and landmark building in an attractive commuter towns just a short drive away.

I had spoken personally to the respective clients a week or so prior to the appointment day to get some final instructions on what they required from me.

The modern house was being bought and the flat was already owned but both had to be inspected and reported on for the purposes and intentions of the clients.

The prospective buyer of the house was, in the politest terms, a bit awkward and it had taken my utmost patience and professionalism to explain the process and what would be the best approach to give him all the information he needed in order to buy with confidence.  There were a lot of communications by e mail to finally get him to agree to my proposals on how to best proceed. All of us in the office cheered when he accepted the terms of business.

The owner of the flat was much easier to deal with and it was just a case of setting a time and he would be there.

Both jobs were to be done on the same day. I relaxed a bit at the thought of a well organised diary.

That was too hasty and the prospective house buyer telephoned me within a few days of the scheduled visit whilst I was out on the road to say that due to some legal complications I would have to postpone doing the inspection. I passed this message to my office confirming his name as the source of this update.

Come the day that had originally been allocated for both jobs I suddenly found that I in fact had almost a full day in the office. Two addresses in my diary had been scribbled or Tippex'd out. There is always something to catch up with in the office and so desk time was welcome.

Again, I relaxed at my peril. Head Office rang and asked if I was close to the midday appointment as the applicant was waiting for me. Thinking that the awkward client had revived the job and not told me I gave my side of the story that I had been placed on hold.

I said I would look into it and get back to them.

The case of mistaken identity then came to light.

There was only the difference of the initial letter in both surnames. If spoken over a slightly dodgy line from a car based mobile there was no real differentiation between the two. The fact that both surnames were distinctive and very rare had only made an error on our part that more inevitable and unavoidable.

Of course I set off immediately for the picturesque market town and got there only 25 minutes later than the arranged time. I am still on hold for the other.

Fortunately there were no real implications for the two protagonists..........unlike the poor Mr Tuttle.

Da Doo Rung Rung

It sound quite illogical and a little bit weird but I get very envious when I see a car roof rack with ladders on it. 

I am not really sure why. 

It could be that it looks interesting and a little bit intriguing. 

Equally that image of shiny functional equipment stirs something deep down in me. 

I have noticed quite an increase in the numbers of such externally transported ladders in the last decade. 

This could be attributed to potential profitability of a window cleaning round especially in new territory such as amongst the vast acres of new build housing on the periphery of many city and urban areas. 

The demand for satellite dishes and TV aerials in our relentless quest for the next best and better tech and access to multiple broadcast channels may explain the sight of a fairly ordinary motor car bristling with different lengths and strengths of aluminium ladders and associated accessories to assist in reaching a suitable mounting position be it on the good old chimney stack or the face of the upper part of a house wall. 

At one time the fitting of an analogue aerial would be a plum job for the man of the house. 

Everyone in bygone days had their own set of ladders in their garage, garden shed or hanging up in the covered passage and big ones at that to deal with every conceivable household task.

These included high level maintenance to previously mentioned chimneys and pots, loose or vegetation clogged gutters, fascias and soffits (those lengths of painted timber behind and below the rainwater fittings), casual repointing of brickwork, repairing wooden window frames and for climbing onto a flat or lower roof surface for many purposes including retrieving a lost football or a stranded domestic pet. 

It was always prudent to have ladders of sufficient reach in the event of an emergency such as a fire and this would be a service available to anyone in the street if such a hazardous situation arose. 

With smaller houses and often the absence of a garage, shed or that great feature of older terraces, the back passage there is just nowhere for a ladder to be kept even with an overriding desire to possess one. 

In my work I use ladders on multiple occasions daily. However, in order to fit in with my Professional persona as a Chartered Surveyor it would be frowned upon if I turned up for a job with my access equipment showing. My particular set, I have always wondered at that term as my ones are a single folding unit and not as set suggests a series of interconnecting sections, have been in use for twenty years and have not let me down in all of that time. 

That is in spite of my sometimes reckless abandonment of sensible rules of use such as getting a good level footing and a solid and flat resting position for the top rung. I am guilty of squashing hundred and thousands of gutters, leaving scuff and scar marks on woodwork and grubby stains on internal wall finishes which must in some circumstances where there have been no witnesses be mightily mystifying to the home owners as to how they got there. 

My trusty set nestle nicely in the boot of my car and are easily portable in and out of properties and up and down flights of stairs. When opened out with a stout 15 foot high reach I can often hear amazed and admiring comments from homeowners and occupants which I just absorb with all the modesty that I can manage. These emotions are repeated as, after use, I manhandle the sections back into the very neat and tight cluster in which they arrived. 

Other Surveyors laugh at my conventional and traditional folding ladders. 

Theirs are invariably of an even more portable and lightweight type with a concertina operation so that they just fit under the armpit whereas mine require a bit more physical manouevring along the length of a leg. 

My envy of others' ladders does not extend to this high tech type as I would not trust them if pulled out to their full extent over a stairwell in an old Victorian House.

When  I retire and put my folding ladders away for good I can see myself taking some time in browsing brochures for car roof racks and big fixed ladders in readiness for spending my new leisure time driving around seeking out opportunities to use them. Anything considered...................................

A tinkle in the corner of the room

Whilst I do some lengthy research on some new subjects here is an old blog from a few years ago now but actually one of my favourites.

In my daily work I am in and out of other people's houses.

This gives me an opportunity to make a mental note of fads and fashions, what new things are trending or what old things are making a comeback. In this way I have seen an increase in the number of huge televisions, bi-fold doors and home cinemas and a noticeable decline in Yorkstone wall features, serving hatches, magnolia colour paint and most disturbingly, in pianos.

When I say decline, where pianos are concerned it is more like a complete disappearance.

I have a special place in my life for a piano. There was always one in my childhood home and even today my Mother still has that particular one in pride of place in a living room and it is regularly used for her own and the wider family entertainment. There is always a good chance of a sing-song, often a bit raucous and of dubious tunefulness at main gatherings of Christmas  and Easter. In reality, we do not need a festival to prompt such an outpouring of emotion and togetherness, it just happens if we feel like it.

That piano was a major item in the room.

If not being played by Mother, my sisters, brothers or those coming to the house for music lessons (me and it were in no way compatible), the large upright instrument doubled up as a useful piece of furniture from bookshelf on the top to dining table on the hinged lid, this being useful for young children to eat their tea off whilst watching after school TV programmes such as Jackanory, Blue Peter, Belle and Sebastian, Hectors House and Roobarb and Custard.

For all of my complete lack of piano playing aptitude I could hammer out the National Anthem, What shall we do with a Drunken Sailor? and other opening bars of popular tunes and themes.

There was quite a drama when a mouse was discovered living amongst the pedals and wires prior to meeting its fate under the powerful spring catch of a cheese baited trap just under the Middle C key. This was nearly as traumatic a situation as when the family hamster disappeared for some time into the same catacomb of wood and metal before emerging unscathed although probably a bit deaf from the experience. Lessons and entertainment just could not be suspended just for an errant rodent could they?

My own children were given a piano by their grandparents, a nice old classic sit up and beg version purchased from a second hand or more source. It went well with our 1920's built house of the time, quite aptly given that the inter period was the halcyon for piano's in private homes. This golden age persisted well into the 1950's and statistically in that decade there was higher ownership of pianos than private cars.

An abundance of British manufacturers with suitably evocative names reminiscent of great days of Empire and conquest turned out quality pieces. There was a cost to ownership in regular tuning and I remember the succession of rather eccentric piano-tuners who could pick up the faults by ear and tweak something out of our inquisitive sight in the heart of the wooden frame to restore, once again, a wonderful tone and pitch.

Gradually from the 1960's the leisure time for families became crowded with new activities and technology giving more excitement and variation with the piano falling out of favour. The wider availability of electronic organs and keyboards, more compact and even portable fitted in better with the idea of a more modern house interior and decor also contributed.

New build houses were just too small to accommodate a bulky piano and even remodelled older houses with the fashion for a through lounge could not make use of them. Cheap imported pianos began to arrive from the Far East which put a lot of the domestic manufacturers out of business.

Second hand stock could be problematic if infested with woodworm, likely to fall on a small child or be constantly in need of tuning.

This brings me to the present day and the rarity of seeing a piano in a private house.

Recently, in a sort of sixth sense situation I was mystified by a wooden floor in a modern detached residence which had a very pronounced dip and sag under the carpet. There was no flex or spring, in fact the floor was as tight as a drum but with a strange bowl type depression.

I paced up and down for a while and even lay down on my stomach to get a look at the distortion. I felt from this prostrate position like I was peering over the lip of a crater made by a meteorite.

The only thing that could have caused the floorboards and supporting joists to assume such a profile would be a constant and dead weight. The home owner by now was concerned by my mutterings , wanderings and apparent fallings over and came to see if I needed any help.

I asked if there had ever been a piano in the room. They expressed surprise at how I could have known that as, yes, that room had in fact been more or less dedicated when the house was originally built to take a Baby Grand, about a couple of tons of master craftmanship.

That was more than thirty years ago giving the floor a good, long period to naturally succumb to the loading of such a prestigious instrument. That bit of deduction on my part was the highlight of the particular year.

I am unlikely to have that opportunity again just being confined to a query "where have all the pianos gone?"

Heavy Steering.

The term "Peak Oil" is already well known and relates to a theorised point in time (although we may already have reached and passed that point already in reality) when the maximum rate of extraction of petroleum is attained and thereafter experiences a steady depletion and eventual extinction if that can indeed be applied to a resource as well as a life form.

I firmly believe that last weekend on UK television we reached "Peak Top Gear".

I should explain.

That TV programme has been one of the most popular in terms of viewing figures for a couple of decades. It's success has been on a global scale with many franchise type broadcasts in other countries.

As with most phenomena of that type there is always the chance that it's Presenters believe the hype and their own celebrity status and that they are in fact bigger than the programme itself. This was the background behind the breakaway to Amazon Prime Channel of the three best known petrol heads and the panic stricken mode that the BBC subsequently went into to try to replace them.

Of course, it is always difficult to replace a cultural establishment and anyone handed the role will have to think long and hard about taking it on.0

Some thrived and others experienced the full and venomous wrath of the viewing public with only a thick skin and acceptance of this inevitable backlash keeping one specific individual from suffering a personal crisis from the social and professional assassination.

The combination of a United States anchor presenter and British support did nurse Top Gear through the aftermath of the defection. There has been a levelling off of any decline in popularity but of course the programme will never be the same.

So to the start of the 2019 Series.

I was keenly anticipating what is always a very welcome addition to the Sunday evening schedules and in particular the slot between 8pm and 9pm which is a bit on no man's land between offerings on the natural world and the usual blockbuster Period or Crime drama.

As per usual the opening segment was a taster for the series run in true crash, bang, wallop impact.

I was already bored after just a few seconds of the stuff.

It was just not very original or inspiring. Just more of the same in fact.

Cut to the studio and there was a ray of hope. The feature was to be on Estate Cars.

There was a shiny Skoda Superb which was introduced in very complimentary tones. That appealed to me because I have owned and driven Estate Cars for the last 25 years. These have included four Volvo's and three VW's with only one mid life type crisis period involving an electric blue fastback that did live up to its name.

In terms of practicality, style and robustness you cannot beat an estate car.

They suited our growing family and all of the paraphenalia that goes with that, as a means of transport for dogs and in my working life as I carry quite a bit of bulky equipment in pursuit of earning an income.

Yes Top Gear. I would like to see a feature on the Skoda as it was, I admit, on my shortlist for a future purchase.

I edged forward on my chair ready to receive a candid appraisal of the vehicle.

For some reason the segment in the show went to Norway and the two cars given the usual glossy treatment were as far from real motoring life as you could possibly get. The pseudo estates were ridiculous being pretenders to that function from Porsche and Ferrari.

I could probably have afforded a change of tyres or a full service on these models using the annual allocation of my usual motoring budget.

There was some entertainment value, I suppose in seeing two supercars in a sort of trumped up domesticated scenario.

The scenery was beautiful and the geology and topography highly dramatic but I had no real interest in the cars amidst that.

Inane challenges followed based on speed, braking distances, carrying a bit of vegetation and a few passengers.

At that point I actually pined for the sight and sound of a Skoda Estate or any typical estate for that matter and a diesel engined one at that, chugging up and down the gradients, fully laden with some of the items that I regularly wedged into my load bays such as a three piece suite, a fridge freezer, 2 tons of decorative Scottish Pebbles, garden and general rubbish for a trip to the dump and loose bicycles.

As for the German and Italian frauds they had only enough load bay space for a man bag and a wine cooler.

That feature was spread over two parts in that Top Gear episode interspersed with equally ridiculous efforts of a toothy star in a car and two pocket sized crossover vehicles that single-handedly destroying a mountainside.

As you can probably tell I was so very disappointed with the whole 60 minutes broadcast.

That is why I feel that we have attained Peak Top Gear.

That original explanation of the term does not even require any paraphrasing.

The Call

I get a phone call from The Methodists every five years. 

Unlike the rather active and pushy Seventh Day Adventists or the persistent Jehovah's Witnesses it is not an attempt to bring me into the fold but a request for me to provide Quinquennial Reports on the Churches and Chapels which are to be found in my area of geographical coverage. 

I have been so employed for a couple of decades now and cannot actually recall how I got involved but it is a privilege to work with such nice people and interesting buildings or it could as easily be other way around? 

I have been into the far recesses of some very old structures such as Organ Lofts and ventilation towers, Undercrofts and Voids and have enjoyed unprecedented access into the exclusive domains of Ministers, Preachers and Choirs. 

There is nothing standardised as far as the Places of Worship of The Methodists are concerned which is an inheritance of the quite diverse and disparate origins of that Denomination. 

My work today took me to an 1853 Chapel in a rural field with its nearest neighbour being half a mile away. 

As a building it is a simplistic expression of faith, a small rectangular footprint under a hipped roof with narrow arched windows and no fancy embellishments whatsoever. 

In contrast I had prior been inspecting a large town centre Church in red brick Italianate style, corner towers and pyramidal roofs, contrasting yellow brick Lombardic frieze and internally a grand galleried hall, ornate covings and ceiling roses, carved memorial stones and plaques in recognition of pledges and donations towards its construction in 1878. 

This is such a stark reflection of comparative wealth and patronage between the two places and inevitably influence their respective viability when economics and budgeting exert their pressures over Spiritual or Community values in Methodist Central Planning Policy.

The church in the town has fully booked amenities on the premises on an all year round basis with lunch clubs, mother and toddlers, pensioner get togethers, dances and fund raising functions. 

Out in the countryside the small chapel struggles with just 8 current worshippers and irregular income from infrequent bookings for secular uses. 

However, the dedication of those members of their respective Churches and Chapels that I meet on my five yearly rota is inspiring and humbling in equal measure. 

The one aspect of this part of my work that I struggle with is that every time I return to a particular premises I am met by a completely different member of the congregation in the role of Property Steward. 

This is not down to an abundance of volunteers who rotate in that trusted appointment on a competitive basis but because, sadly, the average age of a Methodist in my area is generally more than the Psalms 90 mentioned three score years and ten. 

On the upside I am more or less assured to make a new acquaintance on my periodic and scheduled return to a Place of Worship and can enjoy it as though experiencing it for the first time......all over again.

Urban Gardening Hazards

It has always been a favourite parental phrase, used possibly for millenia in some form or another but with the version heard in my generation  being "Will you just get out of my way and go and play in the garden".

It was, to me, never a punishment or sanction for bad behaviour as I was fortunate in that the family houses of my childhood and formative years were always a great source of entertainment as far as their gardens were concerned.

My earliest recollections were in fact of back gardens of my respective Grandparents where I would be asked to go if there was important business to be discussed by the grown-ups.

These seemed to me then to be expansive and seemingly endless areas of crazy paved paths, shady glades, neatly trimmed hedges, secret hiding places and, in season, an endless supply of soft fruits to be scrumped and savoured all the more for that.

In fact they were nothing more than standard rectangular gardens as typically found with pre-war and inter war suburban dwellings but to very imaginative young minds they were so much more.

The defining factor about such spaces were that they had not previously been built upon. Those house building eras had been able to take shape on previously agricultural land what is now called Greenbelt.

There was little chance therefore, even though I tried hard in my excavations, to actually unearth anything that could be called an artefact or object of interest. Worms, snails, bone fragments and the occasional bits of a labourers clay smoking pipe were the only things that warranted being dragged with accompanying mud and grime into the house to show Grandad Dick and Nanna Nelly, Grandad Donald and Gran Helen dependant on who we were visiting at the time.

Fast forward by a couple of decades to the construction of housing estates on old industrial and commercial sites or those of any previous use, described as Brownfield, and this has opened up a great many more opportunities for curious and energetic children to dig up strange items from bygone eras. Some should not, perhaps, have been buried there in the first place on account of levels of toxicity or other hazardous or downright dangerous attributes.

I have often consulted historic and archived maps to find out what used to exist on sites which give the impression of only ever having been residential in character and identity.

In my home city an area of former derelict docklands is now well established as a trendy waterside housing estate. Previous functions of the wharves and quays was for the reception of vast quantities of timber from Scandinavia, imports of livestock and about 2.2 million immigrants making their way from Europe to the Americas.

One interesting bit of land use on the docks was a Cholera and Leprosy Hospital. The footprint of the buildings associated with this medical operation is now firmly under a terrace of tidy, executive houses. I am still waiting for a news report of an enthusiastic junior archaeologist bringing something a bit unsavoury to the dinner table after being discovered in the back garden of these homes.

In other city locations where historic manufacturing sites have long since disappeared to be replaced by housing I have heard of accidental discoveries of large man made holes just beneath the made up ground where coal gas had been stored after having been produced from a noxious process. One such case significantly increased the cost of putting up a domestic conservatory as the cavernous voids had to be filled before any building work could be contemplated.

Brick pits and other sites of mineral extraction have also built upon in the modern era.

One former field where iron filings and other ferrous waste from an engineering works had been dumped legitimately over about 50 years made the soil so corrosive that metal drainage pipes in the ground were continually bursting and the smart looking bungalows began to subside with unnerving regularity.

On my way to my first infants school I used to walk past a development of townhouses which had been built on a chalk bedrock but unbeknown to those who had put them there was the existence of an underground complex of caves and voids that had been dug out in an old quarrying process which had not been recorded. Those three storey houses began a slow transition into two storeys and then bungalow format as they sank.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery was that, in a house garden, of a old railway turntable. This had previously been inside a huge railway engine shed in a vast acreage of sidings and maintenance depots built from the late 1800's and at that time right out on the very edge of the city.

Somehow buried and forgotten during the demolition and clearance of the old railway site sometime in the 1950's it was only found when builders started to dig the foundations for the extension to a 1990's built house on the large residential estate that had become established there.

Wartime damage was extensive in my local area and every time that footings are dug or the ground opened up there is invariably a risk of uncovering 80 year old unexploded shells and ammunition.

A few unfortunate residents of modern housing estates built on landfill sites have had to endure the periodic eruption of methane burners in plain sight which cannot do much for the nervous system or property values.

With the pressure to secure new housing land, without encroaching upon sacred Greenbelt, areas of natural beauty or of bio-diversity the prospect of unearthing something interesting is increasingly possible.

Long Term Forecast 1983 to the present

It's a personal freedom in this country that we take for granted.

I am talking about driving around in the car, windows down and playing music very loud.

We all do it.

Unfortunately, this does expose us to a great range of genres and styles and some are just not enjoyable at all. In the last couple of decades a familiar sound has been a strong thumpy bass and tinny electronic accompaniment that passes for garage, rap and urban music emanating, typically from a small 2 door hatchback with bolt on accessories and gimmicky goodies.

Of course you may catch a few strains of Pavarotti or classical dependant upon your location as much as the popular sub cultural stuff. If I am alongside a mobile sound system I just like to listen and try to catch the gist of the lyrics. In my local area there are bursts of bhangra and Euro-Pop at all hours.

Although I feel that I have a wide taste in music many of the mobile audio offerings are heard for the first time although in that thumpy category you could easily be forgiven in saying that, yes, they all sound very much the same. They are evidently written to a rather rigid set of rules or rather are produced by those of a similar and rather basic talent.

I was walking through a supermarket car park a couple of days ago when through an open drivers door window came forth a barrage of music. The song being played was strangely familiar. It was a cover version of an original vinyl single that I had bought in 1983.

I had bought it on impulse all of those years ago after, I think, that John Peel played it on his late night show. It was a stand out song at the time because of its a cappella style, minimal backing track and the haunting vocals of a single female.

The song was "It's a fine day" performed by the artist Jane (Jane Lancaster) using the words of the then Manchester based poet and musician Edward Barton and originally an independent label release.

Barton claimed to have spent about £5 on studio time followed by an initial wasteful pressing of the single before having to package and sell the 7" himself for £2.


It was a bit of luck that the owner of Cherry Red Records heard it on the John Peel show, as I had, whilst waiting for his broken down car to be attended to by a recovery vehicle. An enquiring phone call led to Cherry Red putting their resources into its full marketing and distribution.

Jane and Barton single

The version coming out of the parked car this week was a bit more punchy and rhythmic, no doubt a good record to dance to.

The original was for all of its uniqueness and cleverness was quite slow and boring. Someone had subsequently given it a supercharged makeover and there was again a very familiar and rather formulaic style to it.

This was down to the production values of the prolific team from the 1980's and 1990's pop music scene of Stock, Aitken, Waterman and in particular Pete Waterman. Their trademark traits had propelled the likes of Divine, Hazel Dean, Dead or Alive, Mel and Kim, Roland Rat, Bananarama and Kylie and Jason into public consciousness and success to varying degrees (no bad feelings Roland).

The 1992 release by Opus 3 was a global hit with the pinnacle of its achievements being top spot in Billboard USA's Hot Dance Club Chart.

Opus 3 version

There have been many other covers and samples of the song including Orbital (1993) and Miss Jane (1998)

Preceding both of these was its use in an advertisement for the Japanese marketing campaign for Kleenex Tissues.   Japanese Advert.  A bit weird.

You can't keep good music down and Barton's great lyrics and musical skills saw Kylie Minogue sample "It's a fine day" in her 2002 "Confide in Me" release.

The record really shows its quality in that it has endured and is still being listened to today even in a supermarket car park in 2019.

Just passing through

The end of the line, a dead end, you only go to Hull if you have to.......heard it before, heard it today and those who have never visited the great City will continue to say it in the coming years.

Yet, for the estimated 2,200,000 immigrants who passed through Hull on the way to settlement in the United States, Canada and South Africa in the mid to late 19th Century it marked the beginning of the next stage of their arduous journey to find safety from persecution and to earn a living.

Arrival in the port will have brought a graphic realisation that their flight was progressing, particularly after a hellish three to four days of passage across the volatile North Sea from the Baltic Ports. At last, some firm soil under their feet and the prospect of a rapid train transfer across the country to the mass transit hub of Liverpool.

There had been a negligible trickle of migrants, around 1000 a year in the early part of the century. Risking sickness or a perishing at sea these early arrivals mainly settled in the emerging Industrial centres of England and quickly established communities in York, Leeds and Manchester. By the 1840's the transport of emigrants from Norway, Sweden and North Germany was big business for steamship companies who switched fully to passenger cargo or maintained a mix of goods and people. The Wilson Line, a Hull based company, held a virtual monopoly of the routes. The generation of income from frequent crossings was tremendous but at the cost of quality and humane standards. This drew the attention of the Hull Board of Health, who had a running battle with the Wilson Line over poor and unacceptable standards of their passenger vessels. The Steamship Argo was likened to a little better than a cattle ship. Human excrement running down and sticking to the side of the superstructure was cited. The inhumane conditions threatened not only the health and welfare of the poor transportees but also the wider City population.When ships arrivals did not coincide with the running times for ongoing trains the squalid conditions on board persisted with, largely, only the male emigrants allowed to venture out into the city.

Outbreaks of Cholera in most of the European Ports demanded immediate action to prevent an epidemic amongst the local population. The Hull Sanitary Authority was formed in 1851, an early Quango, with responsibility for the wider urban area and the Port. Main embarcation points in the central and eastern docks included the Steam Packet Wharf in the Humber Dock Basin or the Victoria Dock.

The Minerva Hotel on the Dock Basin Quay served as offices for emigrant agents and became established as the hub of the operation. The threat to Health was serious and after 1866 the arrivees at Victoria Dock were not allowed to cross the town on foot and were kettled onto trains on the North Eastern Railway.

Those arriving at the Dock Basin were invariably held on board. A safer option, particularly as confused and disorientated european migrants were at significant risk of exploitation by the inevitable presence of chancers and racketeers in the narrow dockside streets.

A major improvement and recognition of the vast human traffic through Hull was the construction, in 1871, of an Immigrant Waiting Room and allocation of a transit platform just on the southern edge of Paragon Station with a frontage to Anlaby Road. This building still survives as a Bar and Social Club for Hull City football supporters. The building, a long, narrow, low slung brick and slate structure had actual but limited facilities for the comfort and convenience of immigrants. The prospect of a first wash, secure toilet and permanent landside shelter was well overdue. From the building ticket agents could ply their business in a controlled environment against criminal activity.

Once ashore, most passengers were despatched on the next leg of their journey within 24 hours. Those delayed for whatever reason and requiring lodgings had a limited choice evidently a Directive from the authorities to discourage even temporary settlement. Twenty emigrant lodging houses were officially licenced in 1871. These were little more than dormitories accommodating between 20 and 80 people at a time.

The Waiting Room had to be extended within ten years. Arrivals continued to increase up to 1885 and the Hull and Barnsley Railway Company jumped in to capitalise on the trade with a second emigrant platform at their new Alexandra Dock development. The purpose built complex could take the largest of steamships and the prompt transfer of passengers to trains of 17 carriages, the last four being exclusively for baggage. The long trains had priority on the line with a monday morning departure for the 4 hour journey to Liverpool, the gateway to the United States and Canada.

The exodus from Europe was persistent and in 1904 the Wilson Line leased a separate landing station at Island Wharf at the Basin mouth being the fourth such facility across the waterfront. The income from this trade, for the Wilson Line, had made it the largest privately owned shipping line in the world. There was another ten years of peak profits from the transmigration business before the outbreak of the First World War ended the trade overnight.

Hull was the natural stepping stone for those escaping to a better percieved life in the west. Amongst the 2.2 million passing through was a documented, but estimated, 500,000 european Jews and up to 70,000 of Russian and Polish origin. Large numbers of Swedish, Norwegian and Danish migrants, mainly of hardy farming stock , were customers of The Wilson Line for resettlement in North America.

The Island Wharf has a permanent commemorative statue with a family sat amongst suitcases containing their worldly belongings , looking a bit apprehensive about what lies ahead.

This is a repeat of an early blog but representing an issue that is etched into the history and inheritance of Hull and its people.

Big Money Up North

The sum of two million four hundred and seventy seven thousand and five hundred pounds is a tremendous amount of money.

Even in today's society where there are instant millionaires in what seem like daily prize draws  it still sounds like a big figure. As I walk into my local newsagents through that silvery grey coating of scratchcard foil that swirls around in the eddying air on the public pavement just outside the doorway, I could easily be rubbing shoulders with a new multi-thousand pound winner who may not yet know it to be the case until out on the street and commencing that almost secretive action of rubbing the cerrated edge of a coin over the small metallic squares .

Some days, when joining the end of a queue to purchase my favourite Boost chocolate and glucose energy infused bar (RRP 68p) I seem to be the only person buying an item other than a lottery ticket or one of the many stylised cards to win one of 25 VW Golfs, an equivalent of your working salary paid for life, a country cottage on which you will not need a mortgage or just a large bag of cash. I knew a couple back in the 1980's who had a win of £250,000 on the old but once dominant football pools. This was more than enough to fulfill their dreams of an easier life and I believe that they are still living off the interest from some prudent investments at that time and benefitting from some years of bumper, by current levels, interest rates. I expect that most participants in what is still a form of gambling would, today, probably dismiss the prospect of winning even a quarter of a million pounds as being not worth the £1 or £2 outlay for a ticket or scratchcard.

There is also the matter of what benefit can be had from pocketing the winnings. The indoor heated swimming pool with the lucky lottery numbers picked out in ceramic tiles at the bottom of the deep end may not be to all tastes. That convertible car with a customised, factory option only pearlescent flourescent paint job and personalised number plate may quickly become a bit of an embarassment and tiresome from the attention it demands. Well intentioned donations to charity, Boys Clubs or in sports shirt sponsorship of the under 12's village football team are all very philanthropic similarly, an appearance as a secret millionaire on a TV programme before that often a bit cringy, but quite emotional all revealing moment.

Much good can come of great wealth if channeled to where it can make a difference.

That brings me back to the large sum of money from the top of the page. Working back in time, to 1899 to be exact, March of that year to be a bit pedantic, the equivalent amount was £25,000. This was the donation by a Hull businessman, Llewellyn Longstaff to The National Antarctic Expedition to boost what had been up to that time a poor fundraising drive and allow the release of match funding by the British Government which led, in due course to the construction of the ship, Discovery and in 1900 the appointment of Captain Robert Falcon Scott as leader.

Longstaff's generosity was possible from the very successful paint manufacturing and oil seed crushing business of Blundell Spence and Company whose name lives on in the locally known Blundells Corner just on the northern edge of Hull City Centre.

Born in 1841 Llewellyn ascended to the industrial dynasty and at the age of 33 the company became Limited with an authorised capital of £400,000. In today's monetary terms that equates to the figure of just under £32 million pounds. Family members were the principal shareholders thrusting Llewellyn into the playboy category. He was however part of a forward thinking group who introduced a profit sharing scheme for their employees with an 1887 payout of £963 or £100,000 today amongst 326 employees, ironically, perhaps 2 employees, possibly not even based in Hull, in todays recessionary economy.

The paint making operation survived a serious fire in the 1840's at the central site and later expanded to a large mill premises close to the tidal River Hull corridor and increasing the pay roll to 400 persons by 1894.

Lllewelyn's interests were varied from travelling widely through Europe and America to being President of the Hull Chamber of Commerce, a long term member of the Hull Literary and Philosophical Society, Royal Meteorological and Zoological Societies and a fellow of the Royal Geographic Society.

He may have had intentions of an intrepid life for himself as a wayfarer and explorer but business appeared to take up the bulk of his time but understandable as the source of his great generosity. He moved to London whilst still maintaining strong links with Hull.

Llewellyn's son, Cedric fulfilled much of his fathers suppressed ambitions through active service in the Boer War and befriending Ernest Shackleton who also, like Scott of the Antarctic became a legendary polar explorer starting as third officer on Scott's early expeditions in 1901-1904. In some recognition of the family contribution to British Exploration a group of  peaks bear the Longstaff name in the Transarctic Mountain range. Scotts ultimately ill fated expedition received further funding in 1912. Another son, Tom,  now of independent income, was able to venture to the far ends of the globe including the discovery of the Siachen Glacier of the Karakorum in the Himalayas in the early part of the new 20th Century.

In such ways can great wealth be harnessed for the good of mankind. The spin off benefits from the exploration and pioneering from the Longstaff family contributions may be difficult to calculate but will certainly outlive an algae encrusted swimming pool, a gawdy motor vehicle of questionable taste and a life obsessed by numbers promising immediate celebrity and status.

English Lesson 4

One of the many radio re-runs that I find myself laughing out aloud to is "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" which is a very long running improvisational comedy show which over its many decades has featured the very best in comedic and entertainment talent.

A regular feature in the show is the offering by the participants of definitions of words towards the Uxbridge English Dictionary.

For any student of the English Language this must be most confusing as although the donor word is a bona fide one the meaning as described is only intended to elicit laughter or gasps of shock and awe.

The letter D featured here has a heavy Welsh influence for which I can only apologise.

Here is a bit of a compilation of definitions either broadcast since its launch in 1972 or just held in a remarkable database produced by Kevin Hale, undoubtedly the greatest fan and authority on the subject.

The list is in no particular order; (see earlier lists under English Lesson 1, 2 and 3)

Dictator- a humourously shaped root vegetable

Disconsolate- definitely a particular Embassy

Disappear- to insult a member of the Upper House of Parliament

Dunderhead- what a sculptor says after he's completed the top of a bust

Dilate- live long

Dipthong- washing a flimsy undergarment

Dentist- a man who repairs damaged cars

Dissident- a foreigner pointing out the damage to your car

Disguise- pointing at the foreigner who is pointing out the damage to your car

Dilatory- how to make contact with a member of the Conservative Party

Doughnut- eccentric millionnaire

Dragnet- stockings for men

Delight- turn off at the wall switch

Dogma- a bitch

Diptheria- someone who is an expert on recessions

Diversion- translation into Welsh

Direction- an aroused Welshman

Drawback- problems associated with those who are not circumcised

Dyspepsia- Coca Cola is easily the best over other soft drinks

Direct- a destructive Welshman

Delectable- Teresa May on current performance

Derelict- erotic experience in Northern Irish City

Dandelion- a big camp cat

Defunct- losing your sense of rhythm

Deserted- someone stole the pudding

Domineering- an earing shaped like a domino

Decease- to stop stopping

Dover Sole- Kentish music

Dossier- a French tramp

Digression- Welsh fighting talk

Donation- the place where Homer Simpson is King

Damnation- Holland

Disdain- to be rude to a native of Copenhagen

Debasement- de room under de ground floor of de house

Deft- ebsolutely med

Demistifier- a retired magician

Diffident- novelty toothpaste

Discount- pointing out a member of the nobility

Dodo- a repeat of The Simpsons

Dukedom- birth control for aristocrats

Dubai- Debbie from Birmingham

Decrease- doing the ironing

Diversity- a Welsh seat of learning

Doodlebug- sketching an insect

Dynamite- taking a flea out for lunch

Defuse- a safety measure in de plug

Doldrum- entertainer of a queue at the Department of Social Security

Dismiss- being rude to a female teacher

Dialog- a very poor piece of wood

Demister- castration tool

Delaware- to have seen a episode of Only Fools and Horses

Dunstable - to have shaved

Dumbstruck- hit by a man in a white van

Disgruntled- a pig with a sore throat

Disarray- giving directions in China

Ditto- one of the Marx Brothers fired for being too "samey"

Downloads- description of share prices in a post-Brexit Britain

Silly Season

I have a new favourite joke.

This prestigious award which also covers funny events and hilarious behaviour does not really mean a lot because I find a lot of things funny on a daily basis and the current holder of this accolade could as easily be knocked off top spot in a matter of minutes.

Just today there has been a strong contender.

Take the sporting news that a competitive football match in Scotland has had to be abandoned during play because of the weather. Such has been the strength of the wind that a goalkeeper taking a kick out of his penalty box saw the ball go out, up and then shoot back behind him, over the dead ball line and out for a corner for the opposition.

That must have been incredulous to see.

Other sources of humour can be at the expense of others either through a combination of freakish events or just downright stupidity.

I do not really enjoy having to stifle a laugh in such circumstances.

Anyway, back to my new favourite joke.

I did hear it first a couple of years ago and it justified a giggle but not enough to oust "What is the secret of good comedy. timing" which as all my family and friends know is my regular fallback favourite and suitable for all occasions on the grounds that it is not rude, aggressive, controversial or sexist.

The pretender to the throne of jokes is similarly neutral although it does touch on aspects of education, teenage delinquency, the threat of violence and with a social comment on peer pressure.

No, not really.

I may be reading too much into what is just a joke, nothing more, nothing less.

Here it is. I accept that I may have inadvertently heightened your expectations but just go with it.

What did the inflatable Headmaster say to the inflatable boy who took a pen to the inflatable school?

"You've let me down, you've let the school down but worst of all you've let yourself down"

Silly but really, really funny.

Toilet Humour

Whatever the status, wealth or privilege of an individual we all share a common denominator- that being we all have the same bodily functions.

I was thinking about this, as you do, when looking over an old City Map from the mid 19th Century. In an area now a large commercial district but at the time of survey on the edge of the main built up city the words "Muck Garth" stood out as being a bit unusual.

From further investigation of the archives this described an area of open ground.possibly a bit soggy and marshy which was used for the depositing of  human excrement which, in the era before proper sanitation, will have accumulated in chamber pots and other receptacles in readiness for collection by those employed in the rather unpleasant manual sewage and effluent industry.

A man with a cart will have been busy in the early hours of every morning doing his rounds and then, with a full load, making his way out to the dumping grounds.

This represented a major leap forward in public health as prior to this innovation the night soils of townsfolk and city dwellers will have simply been tipped out of the window onto the street or any unfortunate passers by.

This new role of "pooh" Operative will of course have been a chargeable service either at the point of collection or in the selling on of the waste to whosoever owned the land on which "Muck Garth" was located.

Prior to scientific advances in plant fertilisation and the availability of fertilisers this function was taken by human waste with all of its minerals, vitamins and nutrients in waste product form.

Incidentally, the functional Muck Garth would in the 20th Century be the site for a small housing estate including a cul de sac called Strawberry Fields alluding to the excellent growing conditions from rich and nutritious earth. This in my thinking supports the use of human fertiliser as a very natural way of recycling.

Going further back in history the place was very much more compact with none of the sprawl of residential suburbs or out of town amenities that have been a characteristic of our modern living environments although arguably not always for the best.

In fact, in far more uncertain times in history than the relatively civilised 1800's many of our towns and cities were within defensive walls or otherwise protected by natural features such as rivers and terrain from what must have felt like a constant threat or perception of peril amongst the population from invasion, civil strife, disease or just good old uncertainty about the future.

The nucleus of many of the older UK settlements will have been a Castle, Fortress or Citadel.

The populus who enjoyed the safety of such surroundings will have been reluctant or just scared to venture out beyond the imposing battlements and so specific arrangements will have been necessary for the performance of everyday toilet functions.

On many childhood visits to the great Castles and fortifications across the UK I was always fascinated by the mundane features of those grand structures. Yes, towers, ramparts, drawbridges, moats and torture cells were interesting enough, as were the legends and tales of heroic and sometimes cruel and inhumane exploits of the kings and nobles who resided there but what caught my attention were the passages and nooks that did not get a mention in the guide book for a particular place.

Exploring these areas was not always possible in the more intact visitor attractions as there were volunteer guides and roped off sections but in the roofless ruins this level of supervision was more relaxed even though, ironically, there was a higher risk of an accident befalling the curious.

Some of the tunnels and stairwells were quite claustrophobic even to children of my age but when you consider that the average height of a Saxon, Norman or Tudor was probably around five feet and a bit then they will have been perfectly adequate.

One such discovery, off the main tourist route in a large wreck of a Castle was a dead end, a raised step and within it a large square hole. The aperture had a metal grate across it as it was very deep and with a noticeable updraught of cold air. I dropped a penny down it to try to gauge the gloom but apart from a pleasing ricochet of sound off the stonework on the way down there was no satisfying plop or splash to follow. The recess was unlit and I thought that even the sole illumination from a candle as the only available source would be snuffed out by the windy conditions. I was thrilled to have found a castle latrine.


Here is a cross section of a typical arrangement.

For all of the coldness , dark and dank atmosphere I could imagine that it could be quite cosy in there although not really conducive to the casual reading of a manuscript.

At a time of attack on the castle or during a protracted siege this would be quite a nice place of refuge.

As a forerunner of the domestic lavatory it was pretty crude but the basics were all there.

We are quite smug in our modern lifestyles in not having to get too involved with the bodily function process beyond flushing everything down the pan and out of sight.

A Stable Home

Sometime between 1890 and 1908, according to archive mapping, a wealthy local family commissioned the construction of a grand villa style house on an elevated site just to the south of the town centre.

Although the largest of its kind for that era in the town it was not too ostentatious or showy, in fact it will have reflected well on its owners being sturdy, traditional and of sober function.

In terms of materials and methods its was modest and conservative in a good quality red brick, slate roof and some attractive features including a wrought iron railing central balcony, bargeboards in half timbered style, a deep open porch with a turned wood pillar support and on the south elevation an orangery or conservatory.

The approach was up a steep driveway behind a deep retaining wall and with steps and paths leading to the main entrance.

Just behind the house, on its northern side the owners had built a low, two storey building- the Coach House with a two horse stable, coachman's room, an open bay for the family carriage and a workshop.

Running the full length above will have been a large hayloft space up into the roof eaves.

It has survived well to the present day, surprisingly well for a utilitarian structure and retains many of its authentic features.

Granted, the main area now has an electronically operated roller shutter door and has been lined out to keep the dirt and dust off any parked cars but it is otherwise faithful to its purpose. The old horse stalls have been removed but the floor cobbles, to provide a non-slip surface for shod hooves are intact. An old fireplace remains in the small compartment in which the domestic staff will have spent many an hour awaiting the call for a carriage to be brought around to the house for the Master to travel to work, the Mistress to go visiting or shopping or the family to attend Chapel or Church.

To the modern eye the fittings are a throw back to those far off days, the pre-motor car age, but in their time will have formed essential roles in the efficient and practical working life of the Coach House.

Here are just a few of them.

The sink is a shallow stone carved one, simple but graceful. These are much sought after today in the Antique and reclamation world and find their way into trendy modern homes or commercial locations but will originally have been just a basic trough in which to wash, rinse and sluice out the buckets and shovels of the stable boys.

It sits on low brick piers with a small drain off aperture. There is no evidence of running water rather the basin will have had to be filled by hand.

The main source of water was from the rainwater downpipe which runs back into the stable and spills out in a glazed clay channel  before being collected in an underground chamber or reservoir for recycling on a daily basis.

In the corner of the stable is a wash copper.

This is a brick surround to a hollowed out chamber in which would be placed a copper bowl. With a fire stoked in the hearth below this was used to provide hot water for general purposes.

The flue, in this case, was run through the partition wall and connected to the Coachman's fireplace to utilise the sole chimney stack.

This one has a round wooden lid suggesting it could have served also for clothes washing. In some instances, perhaps in a more rural property this would be used in the preparation of home reared meats

The stable block is very tidy and neat in its lines and angles.

Viewed from coming up the driveway the building sits well with the workshop in the foreground and main body and loft behind and above.

The green gloss paint of the door is likely to be the authentic finish.

Access to the hayloft is from an open tread ladder, steep and of shallow tread but will have been in  frequent use to fetch and carry animal feed, tack and equipment.

It is feasible and indeed quite common for the first floor to have been used as accommodation for servants although this will have been cold and uncomfortable at the best of times.

The wall behind is a bit damp and crumbling although not untypical where a former functional building has become under used in a modern context.






In all, a bit of a gem. Prospective buyers have considered converting it into an annex to the main house or even as a self contained dwelling.

Although it is a pity that these scenarios will lead to the loss of some of the character such plans will at least conserve the building as sympathetically as could be hoped for.

Mr Shifter's Business Plan

My curiosity got the better of me having seen on the menu of speciality teas in a Hull Eatery the availability of "Monkey Picked Oolong". 

This immediately summoned up in my mind a rather magical image although somewhat tempered by the pooh-flinging activities of those naughty chipmanzees in the animated Madagascar. 

I found this very informative blog from 2018 on the internet pages of The Red Blossom Tea Company who are based in San Francisco, USA. I apologise for reproducing it almost word for word but who better to explain the legend being the beverage than the actual Experts. Here goes;

For drinkers of Chinese tea, the label “Monkey Picked” is a familiar one, typically applied to oolong teas made from the Tieguanyin variety in Anxi County, Fujian in the south East Mainland of China.. Today, with the moniker applied to a vast range of teas within this style, it seems fairly obvious that it has taken on a poetic meaning, meant to imply information about the style and quality of the tea rather than offer factual information about the harvesting process. Certainly, tea farms in Anxi County don’t really depend on teams of monkeys to pluck their valuable leaves...do they?

As the legend goes, monkeys were first employed to pluck leaves from the rocky mountains and steep cliffs of Fujian Province, where wild, ancient tea trees produced valuable leaves that were out of reach for humans. Various versions of this story attribute the first monkey picked teas to ambitious local tea farmers, a wandering monk with a pet monkey, or cagey merchants who made the whole thing up to protect the secrets of Chinese tea production.

No matter the origin of the story, the conclusion is the same: monkey picked teas are unique and rare, coming from high elevations with terrain so remote and inaccessible that it has never been touched by human hands. Such tea is of the highest quality, and must command the highest prices. Those monkeys work hard, you know.

But the ubiquity of the name in today’s speciality tea markets reveals that the ‘Monkey Picked’ name has been diluted, just like most other poetic denominations of tea quality. Just as most tea labelled Da Hong Pao is not from the handful of government-protected mother plants, most monkey picked tea is not of the rare and venerated quality the name once implied.

Many tea merchants will implore that while ‘Monkey Picked’ is now applied to lower grades, their own tea bearing that name is, in fact, authentically picked by monkeys. Even among aficionados, many self-proclaimed experts will insist that while most “Monkey Picked” teas are simply cashing in on the marketing opportunity, there is one “true” monkey picked tea, where innovative local farmers have indeed successfully trained monkeys to help them harvest tea plants that are difficult to access. Ironically, the lack of photo proof or common knowledge of these practices only heightens the sense of obscurity and value for these “authentic” claims. It could just be monkey business.

Part of the reason for this story’s persistence is its closeness  to truth. Indeed, monkeys are trained to harvest other crops like coconuts, and have certainly proven they have the intelligence and dexterity for these kinds of tasks. For those of us who don’t have extensive experience with training monkeys or picking tea, this seems like a fairly believable solution to an established problem.

But unlike coconuts, which can be handled roughly and dropped from great heights without damage, tea leaves are delicate and fragile before they are wilted for processing. Tea leaves must be carefully handled to avoid bruising or breaking before they arrive at the processing centre, and all tea harvesters must be able to differentiate and carefully select the proper leaves for the specific tea’s plucking standard, which often varies with the season.

These stringent standards, enforced most strictly in the making of the highest grades, require the awareness and skill of humans with years of experience, and are unlikely to be met by monkeys who are simultaneously scaling steep and dangerous cliffs. Similarly, it is unlikely that lower grades would be picked by monkeys, since the same function can be filled by more efficient machines with fewer maintenance costs.

At any rate, in all our years travelling to tea farms in China, we’ve only caught sight of the slackers - we’ve never seen a single monkey picking tea leaves.

https://redblossomtea.com/pages/our-teas

Me and Shorty; The Falling Out

On the run up towards Christmas in my childhood years, say up to the age of about 12, we would collect and hoard the glass jars from which the last bits of peanut butter, lemon curd spread and boiled sweets had been scraped, licked, rinsed and chiselled out. 

These would be put aside in readiness for a session of gift making for our Grandparents. 

The larger and more ornate the jar the better as they would soon be carefully filled, spoonful by spoonful with bright, crystal clear and perfumed bath salts. 

I seem to remember that they were purchased in bulk from Boots The Chemist or a local discount shop, perhaps even the old Woolworth Store. 

In quantity and quality they made the perfect pocket money budget present. 

After a bit of decoration around the jars you would be hard pressed to find anything more lovingly crafted and personalised. 

What's more they seemed to be really appreciated by the recipients as it appears that to those of our Grandparents' generation they represented a bit of decadence, luxury and frivolity against a backdrop of the austere eras through which they had themselves grown up, between the two World Wars and in the prolonged years of rationing that followed in peacetime well into the decade in which me and my siblings were born. 

The strong smell, fine dusty residues and even a few saved for our own bath times have formed a very enduring memory. 

Well, my carefully archived memories have now been sullied somewhat by the modern drug culture reference to bath salts meaning something completely different and as far away from cute and sweet as you could possibly get. 

The term is now used for a specific group of recreational designer drugs creating a psychoactive reaction in their users. 

There have been some instances when the proper and old fashioned bath salts as found in my own childhood were used to disguise their more potent and destructive namesakes. 

Here is the science bit.

Synthetic cathinones such as mephedrone, which are chemically similar to cathinone, naturally found in the plant Catha edulis (khat), were first synthesised in the 1920s. They remained obscure until the first decade of the 21st century, when underground chemists rediscovered them and began to use them in designer drugs, as the compounds were legal in many jurisdictions. 

In 2009 and 2010 there was a significant rise in the abuse of synthetic cathinones, initially in the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe, and subsequently in the United States. 

Drugs marketed as "bath salts" first came to the attention of authorities in the US in 2010 after reports were made to US poison centres In Europe, the drugs were predominantly purchased from websites, but in the US they were mainly sold in small independent stores such as gas stations and head shops. 

In the US, this often made them easier to obtain than cigarettes and alcohol.Bath salts have also been sold online in small packets.Hundreds of other designer drugs or "legal highs" have been reported, including artificial chemicals such as synthetic cannabis and semi-synthetic substances such as methylhexaneamine. 

These drugs are primarily developed to avoid being controlled by laws against illegal drugs, thus giving them the label of designer drugs.In the US, the number of calls to poison centres concerning "bath salts" rose from 304 in 2010 to 6,138 in 2011, according to the American Association of Poison Control Centers. 

Calls related to bath salts then began to decrease; by 2015, the number had declined to 522.

Is nothing sacred?

Is it not a precious thing to conserve the recollections of an innocent childhood? 

Stand and Deliver

The Urban Dictionary for the 21st Century

DELIVEROO: (pronounced deliver-oo). (i)ref  First sighted around 2013 in city or large urban areas as natural habitat. Now global phenomenon in 200 locations. UK population circa 15000 out of 35000 worldwide. Male or female in gender, not age specific although mainly younger generation as main participants. Nocturnal and daytime operating. Characterised by bright livery to upper torso, comprising Celeste variation of turquoise with silver piping which has fluorescent and reflective properties in direct light. Defining feature of large back mounted appendage, removeable, soft shell but bulky and carrying variable contents within foil insulated lining. Fast moving on two wheels either motor or pedal drive in built up areas and prone to be reckless amongst vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Almost invisible to the naked eye at best of times especially if means of artificial illumination has failed or is non existent. Hard working ethical basis although subject to minimum wage and difficult conditions especially during winter months. (ii) ref Frequently found in or around food establishments for brief periods and across a wide catchment area in any one district. Lifestyle factors promote a healthy existence as long as diet avoids over indulgence in fast foods. Occupational hazards include road accidents, punctures and having to cycle into a head wind or driving rain. Not a sustainable form of occupation with many attributing the activity to financial considerations or filling in time between doing other things. Health issues associated with the job include colds, influenza, back strain and saddle sores. Activists seeking legal review through British High Court over status as defined currently as self employed with no entitlement over pensions, holiday and sick pay or to those Rights enjoyed by other workers.