I always look forward to my trips to Hull. From York, the train runs unhurriedly through a wide, flat land of stock-still cattle and hedges. This pastoral scene is rendered abruptly gothic by the cooling towers rising like castle battlements at Drax power station. In time, the secretive aisles of reed-lined creeks converge on the great River Humber. And then: Hull. Being warm I decided to walk to the diocesan Justice and Peace meeting. The avenues were fragrant with spices; restaurants from every corner of the world welcomed morning coffee drinkers.