Burn Baby Burn! I thought Hull was full of Ye Olde traditional public bars where people still stood around pianos singing Danny Boy with sawdust underfoot. Where everybody knows your name and can tell what you drink by the cut of your jib etc. Without the big screen loud hailers that now seem to permeate the watering holes of Merry Old England and farther afield. Surely you are not going to shatter my illusion of an untouched and unspoiled corner of civilisation where traditional folk music and quality ale await the weary traveller.

Regards.

Sidewinder.