LESS OF A BANG MORE OF A SIZZLE

As the clock struck 12 I was overlooking the Humber from the East Yorkshire side, dazzled by the fireworks being let off at The Water’s Edge, Barton. Some guests from the restaurant spilled out onto the veranda, and I joined hands in a verse of “auld lang syne”. My dad used to insist we carried on the tradition years back. Not surprisingly the revellers were well older but lively. A fella who was, well,l frankly a bit sozzled, shouted: “Is any of use from around here”. Everyone looked away except me. “I live over the bridge on the N.Lincolnshire side” I admitted sheepishly. “Tell me why don’t they light up the bridge for the City of Culture”?

Well he does have a point. It would have been a great vocal point, highlighting the gateway to Hull. “I agree” I replied sheepishly. “Probably because it is owned by more than one council and not in the centre of Hull”. But that would have been spectacular. His friend came over for more advice from a “local”.

“Tell me where can we see the fireworks later today?”.

“Good question” is my reply. I rattle through the various spots I have heard are feasible without a ticket. His drunken friend keeps repeating the same question: “Why aren’t they lighting up the bridge”.

A globe snowball cocktail, several bloody Marys and a pint of Carlsberg later I am pleasantly anaesthetised and past caring anymore. I fall asleep on the settee watching Jools Holland.

New Years Day is a mad last feast making day frenzy. Samosas with port and stuffing. Lobster Bisque soup starter. A giant turkey and the trimmings reduced to £8.50 at Asda. Bread and Butter pudding to finish. Chris and Jake my autistic sons are over. Chloe my daughter is back from Goxhill a nearby village where she stayed overnight with some friends to see in the New Year.

Jake, Duncan and I leave Chris back to Gainsborough. A 160 mile roundtrip to serve your son a New Year ’s Day meal. Now that is dedication.

It’s hard to know where to go to watch the firework display. Jake is staying overnight I don’t want to go right into Hull. I consider the end of the road it is elevated by the cemetery and it was Pebble’s, my departed Dalmatian’s, favourite spot. But it makes me too sad the thought of seeing in a New Year without girl.

So I head for the Water’s Edge. The minute we hit the road near Tesco there is a HUGE volume of traffic. I have to jump out because cars are being told to reverse there is no more space to park near the café. It is cold.

I fumble for my gloves and hat and portable chair. I am hoping to sit near the banks and watch. It reminds me of the eclipse in 2000 on a miniature scale. Waves of people heading for a spot to wait and watch.

It is dark and hard to know where to go. Some people are standing on a bank to the left and there is a gate open so I clamber upwards, but it doesn’t look like you will see much from here, so I keep walking through a path of worn down grass interspersed with brambles. I see loads of people walking my way but on a path fenced off from me which I realise is the paved walk by the waterside. It is too high for me to climb over. I keep going. It is only two minutes to 8.15pm.

By now I am in front of the café and there are six people deep groups of onlookers on the walkway. I see a dip in the fence and a little gap between spectators just in time for the first bang. The cars on the bridge are at a standstill.

To the right of us on the East Yorkshire side of the bank splashes of colour hit the sky. But they keep going out of focus as people move to get a better view.

There is a man to the left of me the other side of the fence standing on a raised wall with a kid on his shoulders. There is a single guy to my right taking photos. I am at the mercy of how they tilt their bodies .

A middle aged man jumps up on the wall suddenly entirely blocking my view and tries to help up the rest of his family to make matters worse.

“Hey” I squeeze out like a rain leaden firework. “You are entirely blocking my view”. “Tough” he replies. “I have been here for over an hour”. “That’s no excuse you are plain rude”. I can’t see the fireworks at all now, and so drag my chair further along the bank which is getting steeper and more full of thorn bushes. I find another gap just in time for the last few fireworks to happen and a kid say “They weren’t as big as the fireworks in London, mummy”.

I try to walk to the end of the path but see that is fenced off too. My ankle is now throbbing (I have a developing heel spur), so after my fleecy jacket sticks me to a thicket and the zip flies apart I have no choice but to try and clamber over the fence. My phone rings as I am trying to do so. By now the people on the other side of the fence are making for their cars, or the various pats in the Country Park that lead to home. I hate my phone. When it rings the central icon has to be pressed, then a blue one on the right hand side, which requires co-ordination. Several times later I manage to answer it.

“Where are you”?

“Trying to shorten my life by throwing myself over a wire fence. It will take me ages to get near where you can get to me” I reply.

“Don’t panic it will take at least half an hour for me to get to you the lines of cars leaving The Water’s Edge are so long. Head for the Tesco exit near The Rope Works”. I am in the throng of people now some of whom seem to have driven some distance to get here thinking it would be a better option that Hull which would be even more people and car logs. I had no idea this many people would turn out here. There were thousands there. I ear wigged on other conversations: “They should have had a few stalls or something here and made more of a thing about it”. Good point. After the news had been broadcast about winning the bid there had been talk of Barton being included in the celebration of culture. You have to understand it is really the nearest big place to us and where most people from Barton shop and carry out their lives.

We have a lot to offer for a small market town. A park with a museum. A swimming pool, park with tennis courts. A old school museum. A country park with an arts centre. Several nearby villages which have some great walks. But the shops are mostly shut on Saturday. Everyone is in Scunthorpe or Hull. I have lived here for over ten years and feel more part of Hull than Barton if I am honest. This is why I find it strange Bridlington and Goole are being highlighted in the 2017 City of Culture Literature. Barton is nearer. But I guess it isn’t east Yorkshire.

Down some steps now. Christmas lights from large houses shine down on the river tributaries and paths. Along a wider path now and lines of parked cars and motorhomes with lights on as motorists decide when to join the exit lines. “Can we come back next year” I hear a child ask. “Maybe we will get a better view”? “City of Culture is only this year son. But maybe there will be a closing ceremony”.

I think the promise of “fireworks as big as London’s” drove people here. The connotations of Olympic organisers being involved. I heard another child beg “Can we stay Mum and have more fun”. “There isn’t any” is the reply. “The fireworks have finished now”.

Along the muddy path and over the mini bridge to a play park Jake frequented many times over the long summer holidays. He would never have stood all these people around him let alone negotiating the muddy banks. I weave my way through the chaos. Just as there had been no organisers at the bottom of the entrance to tell drivers the car park was full and loads of people missed out stuck in a traffic log, so the exiting was no better organised. Family members being called for with miners like hats on searching for gran or husband. No defined exit queues about 6 evolving and dissolving as road rage increased. I make it to the Ropeworks pathway and limp back to the car. It is locked off at the end lest drivers try to escape too easily. It takes 30 minutes, which would normally take five, to get out of Tesco’s car park. And this isn’t even the long queue to get out. Pity Tesco is closed they would have made a mint this evening.

We turn left past The Swan pub at the Interchange where you can catch buses to Hull on the 350 or a train to Cleethorpes. This avoids the queue of traffic into town The light of the Christmas decorations strewn from town building to building in a zigzag , the old fashioned bulb type, are the last of the colour in the sky I manage to see.

I’ve lost a glove. I was looking my phone and emptied everything onto the chair when I moved viewing spots. Only one remains.

Now home I fill my cocktail globe with bucks fizz. Day 1 down, 364 to go.

#NewYearsEve #2017 #HumberBridge #fireworks #Hull #CityofCulture2017