Brandy snap, Coconut’s, Greasy Bob’s and a waltz.

It’s been that time of the year here in Hull. The largest traveling fair in Europe comes to town for a week of chaos. The noise, lights and the aroma of burgers, burnt onions, hot dogs and chips fills the air. For some reason coconut’s are always on every stall. Millions of them. Brown, hairy shells that are probably two years past the sell by date. Excited young children gaze up at the toys, candyfloss, sugar dummies and ridiculously priced helium balloons. By the end of the night those kids will be crying because A, the balloon has deflated or B, it’s string snapped and Percy Pig takes off to the moon, proving that pigs do actually fly. The parents will be skint, feeling a bit sick after all the rides and grub. The waltzers are particularly notorious. Going round and round is bad enough but then some young traveller pops up and spins your seat around then dances away like Fred Astaire on steroids to the next victim. “SCREAM! IF YOU WANT TO GO FASTER!!” It’s tough luck if you don’t because you haven’t got much choice.

The fair has been around a long time, since 1273 when it was given the royal charter. Back then the most daring ride was jumping on the back of a elderly peasant woman with leprosy as she spun around on rickety legs. It cost half a groat for five minutes or until she dropped. It wasn’t ‘Hook a duck’ in olden days, just ‘Arrow the sparrow’. The fair has carried on through various wars, plague, black death and even the Thatcher government. It did stop for a couple of years when coronavirus came along but now it’s back to its jam-packed best.

It’s every October. Whatever the weather. The colder and wetter the better. Being up on the big wheel when it’s throwing it down and blowing a gale is a right of passage, or just plain stupid. Another ‘must do’ is Greasy Bob’s. Carver’s chippy has been in Hull for a long time and should come with a serious health warning. The chips slide down the gullet, coated in the fattest of fats and smothered in salt and vinegar. One bag a year is more than enough as two will probably kill you.

If getting a palm read, or tea leafs or tarot is your thing, look no further. The gypsy caravan’s are in town. All the women telling you what’s in the stars have very similar names. Rose Lee, Rose, Lee Rosela. Walk into their dimly lit caravan and ten minutes later you step out into the loud, greasy air, full of hope of a bright future, ten quid lighter of pocket but with a free bag of brandy snap.

And before you know it, it’s gone. The huge carpark it’s been sited on for years will be back to normal. Not a burst balloon or fallen teddy bear in sight. All that’s left is a few thousand people in hospital with food poisoning (the hot pork sandwich should be avoided) several relationship breakdowns every house in Hull has a bloody coconut…..