Beverley

Hull today. I noticed from the train how threadbare trackside trees looked now that ash die-back is so established. After a second breakfast we cycled to Beverley and back. I’ve now cycled as much of Hull as I ever want to. On the map it has lots of cycle infrastructure, but in reality it’s bitty, contorted and comes from the age when cyclists were grateful for anything. It was more enjoyable to abandon the signed Sustrans routes and just use minor roads with their fringes of cow parsley and comfrey.

And Hull, outside its centre, is . . . well, not very inspiring. I did discover past traces of prosperity and elegance in West Hull when we came across the (restored) fountain on The Boulevard – tree-lined with traces of Victorian respectability in the old Sunday School, villas and chapels. The smell of joints undermined the vibe somewhat.