Ye Olde Black Boy pub, Hull

I am not generally a pub-creature, preferring the softer pleasures of tea shops, buttery cakes, and steaming cups of rich, chocolatey coffee. But I make an exception for Hull’s Olde Black Boy pub, a gem of the old town, a place that echoes with ghostly laughter and the scent of spice, of rum, of woodsmoke and tar. Sat with a bottle of dark ale, I stare at the walls and imagine what scenes might have unfolded in its fuggy embrace. “Are You Afraid of the Dark, Lager Boy?” asks a goblin in a poster, eyes gleaming with mischief. And the low hum of conversation is seasoned with familiar accents and sudden bursts of laughter. Outside the rain is greasy, pattering on the cobbles, raking up mud on the river Hull, driving all but the ghosts indoors. DSCF2261Available to purchase at https://www.artgallery.co.uk/work/144581ThDSCF1635

Photo by triroc.com
Photo by triroc.com
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