A Big Saturday Night in... Hull!
Looking for heaven in Hull.
What did you do on Saturday night? Me, I kicked the cosmopolitan life to the kerb and went to Hull. Wonderful, wonderful Hull.
Why? Well, it was as far as I could possibly travel without ending up in Scotland. (Or worse, Newcastle. I've seen Geordie Shore. No chance I'm going there.) But mostly I just wanted to go where people are real. Where people take crutches out with them just in case they bump into their benefits adviser, where men are so high on steds they can barely articulate beyond slapping each other.
Unfortunately, people like that don't tend to enjoy having cameras pointed at them. So here's the best of the rest:
I headed for a sports bar, where I found some people who must not have been roid heads or dole cheats, because they were really into getting their photo taken.
The person behind that guy had become his wife a few hours before this shot was taken. I don't know if what you're seeing here is the first dance, but at the very least it's two people enjoying the happiest day of their lives.
And happy birthday to you too. Looking great for 30!
In Hull, the NHS have started supplying plastic pint pots to bars. Way to destroy your customer base, NHS.
I found this guy inside a bar named Moderation. I didn't stay there very long.
And I found these two inside a bar called Pozition. I stayed there long enough for my brain to spunk some pretty upsetting thoughts about Ronald McDonald all over my subconscious. Thanks, brain.
This guy was pretty drunk. Although props for trying to conceal the fact he could hardly stand up with a hand gesture.
Everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time by this point. Unfortunately I saw the cruel reality of night life in the city. For every hundred revellers tanking £6 bottles of rosé there's someone who has to mop up the vomit. And in Hull, that person looks like this.
Out on the town, this pair played the compatible couple. But what they get up to in the privacy of their own home is their business.
You can't really see it in this picture unless you press your eyes up to the screen like a pervert, but the girl on the right was defying the natural rhythms of her own body to be out drinking in Hull on Saturday. Which is something I could empathise with. I was feeling pretty pukey myself at this point.
Before you head home, it's always worth checking you've still got everything with you. It would suck to get back to your bed only to find you've left your balls in the queue by the taxi rank.
Speaking of which, if the pizza-and-chips-loving nine-year-old me saw this, my own balls would have given up 15 years ago for fear of never being this happy again.
On the wrong side of an eight-hour bender, it's always reassuring to know you'll be ready for Rapture. "Take me now," he bellows at me, "I am ready for you," before being asked to move from the doorway.
I wonder what God thinks of this.
And then, after all that, something to melt the heart: the Adam and Eve of this Eden. It was really nice meeting you too, Hull.