Wednesday 27 January 2016

16 Jan 2016: Welcome to 'Ull (The KC Stadium)

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“’Ow do?” says the middle-aged bouncer as I enter the Admiral of the Humber pub. Very well actually, my good chap, is the answer because this is Hull on a brisk but fair January day, and Sir Robert and I are about to sample the local football.

For various (mostly happy) reasons, this may be our last groundhop of the season together. So we’re determined to enjoy it. As we’re coming from opposite ends of the country, the Admiral is our meeting spot. A capacious tavern in the modern style, it is one of many fine houses in the burgeoning empire of that enterprising fellow Mr J.D. Wetherspoon, of whom you may have heard.

After pints are sunk we head off to locate our hotel, which turns out to be in the middle of nowhere over the river from the Old Town. It’s a Premier Inn, perched atop a mysteriously vast seven storey car park. Who on earth parks here? The way back into town is across a bridge, watched over rather sullenly by a beached trawler (I think it’s a trawler) on a mud bank beside the river. I find it rather creepy, but then I think -  if you find large fishing boats creepy then Hull probably isn’t for you. So I quickly MTFU.

Missed this
The walk to the ground takes us the full length of Hull city centre. Typically, when I go to places that have a reputation for being a little run down – like Wigan – I find they are nowhere near as weather-beaten or edgy as the chatter suggests. In Hull however, which after all is fairly isolated from the rest of the UK, it is difficult to avoid the impression of decay.

It may be that, having once been so important an industrial and seafaring centre, the town just has far more land than it actually needs nowadays, and so there’s no real pressure to redevelop the numberous abandoned sites we pass. Particularly terrifying is the massive, and massively derelict, Carlton Theatre near the KC stadium. It looks like urbex heaven, but I would not want to be in there at night. The route from the centre to the ground also passes a former pub which has almost completely fallen down, as well as Hull’s gigantic NHS hospital.

The KC itself sits amid parkland, although you don’t get the best of this aspect if you approach from town. The situation vaguely puts me in mind of 1.FC Koeln’s Rhein-Energie Stadion, which Sir Robert and I visited last season. Speaking of which, Sir Robert is a known name in Hull - by virtue of various of his night moves which are only murkily known to me – and has been to the KC before. His local knowledge proves invaluable when it comes to pubs (but not dinner).

Looking out to sea
 City still have most of their Premiership squad intact, with recent England international Tom “The Tank” Huddlestone marooned on the bench for this game. Opponents Charlton are struggling, so the gathered ‘Ullensians (or ‘Umbrians as I call them) are hopeful of a big score. They get their wish, as a hat-trick from Uruguayan international Hernandez enables Hull to completely steamroller their opponents. Final score: six nil to Hull. Although it creates a jovial mood, sending City towards the top of the Championship table, it doesn’t really make for a thrilling match. It’s only January, but Charlton look desperate for their season to end.

Now, there is only one reason for someone with no business in Hull to come here, other than to watch the football of course. Well, actually maybe there are two, with the Humber Bridge being the one I overlooked. Rather than merely overlook it, in fact, I fell asleep on the train in and missed it entirely. The other reason for someone who has no business in Hull (and has slept through the Humber Bridge) to come here is the fish and chips, which are reputed to be among the finest in the land.

However, Sir Robert and I first head to the Silver Cod, once the drinking den of the feared Hull City Psychos hooligan firm. Just round the corner from the old Boothferry Park, it is still fairly accessible for match-goers at the KC but is nowadays almost a family place. Sir Robert and I have a tolerable pint or two of Worthingtons while watching Villa play Leicester. Unbeknownst to us, however, in killing time we are killing off our hope of fish and chips.

By the time we set out for dinner it's almost eight o’clock. Now, those of you familiar with Humbrian dining habits may already be clicking your tongues at the decadent lateness of this, but where Sir Robert and I come from, this is dinnertime. Also, let’s face it, if you’re the kind of person who researches chip shop opening times in advance then you’re probably the kind of person who also, say, knows that shops don’t open on Easter Sunday. In other words, you’re not me. Whatever – all of the local fry-shops have shut by the time we get out, and Hull is, beyond fish and chips, probably the worst-equipped city for dining options that I’ve visited. Anywhere. Ever. In the end we track down a half decent craft burger place in the food court of a shopping mall.

It will take a pub to save the day. Fortunately – and here, Sir Robert is on fine form with the local knowledge – Hull’s Old Town has several very, very fine ones. We visit Ye Olde White Harte, a Theakston’s joint selling a mean pint of Old Peculier, and Ye Olde Black Boy, an ancient two-room place that has previously been all kinds of things, including a bordello. Nowadays it’s a cosy yet trendy boozer with a top range of cask beer, and the perfect place to relax before retiring to watch Match of the Day on iPlayer. Ladies and Gentlemen, the great British Saturday night.

On the way back, the Humber Bridge is shrouded in mist. So of Hull’s beguiling attractions, as yet there’s only one, City, that I have really sampled. I supposed there’s also rugby league…

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