TO ANYONE out there who lives in Hull: I'm really, really sorry.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not commiserating with you about your home town - I wouldn't dare, because when all's said and done, I come from Bradford.

No, Hull is a city with many virtues. William Wilberforce. Affordable housing. Philip Larkin, John Godber and the KC stadium. Furthermore, with its ferry dock, Humberside Airport and the A1079, it's also quite easy to get out of.

It has to be said, however, that as a destination Hull has never been on my radar when considering how to pass an Easter Sunday afternoon. And for this, I must apologise.

You see, Hull has a virtue I have never considered until my Other Half said when he suggested it for a day-trip: "Nobody else will be going there today."

The O.H. loves driving; he just hates anyone else to do it at the same time as him. This means that at Bank Holiday time, you can forget suggesting Whitby/Robin Hood's Bay/anywhere else with a decent reputation for tourists, because there will be cars... motor homes... cars pulling trailers... cars pulling caravans. The O.H. is allergic to looking at the same number-plate for longer than five minutes, unless it is in his rear-view mirror and it keeps a respectful distance.

Knowing this, only one throw of the dice was available to me. We could go into York as tourists, I said. Do the museums, walk round the bar walls, do all the things we keep meaning to do but never get around to.

But I'd forgotten that if there's one thing the O.H. hates even more than driving with other people, it's walking with them.

Half an hour later we were experiencing the joy of the open road, apparently the only people heading anywhere east of Market Weighton; and about 30 minutes after that, we had the luxury of choosing from dozens of empty parking spaces in Hull's museums quarter. Parking was free, and when we got out of the car I noticed we were only spitting distance from The Deep, the amazing aquarium which must surely be the city's biggest visitor attraction.

"Ooh, I've always fancied going there," I began, but one look at the O.H. silenced me. How could I forget that this was meant to be a day trip away from other people?

It was certainly peaceful down by the boardwalk, as we strolled beside the waterway, beneath the shadow of the plastics factory. So what if the tide was out? It was cold, so the mud flats didn't smell too bad.

Then we turned down a cobbled side street, and Hull started to grow on me. It's hard not to like a town that has a street called The Land Of Green Ginger, and that boasts a transport museum with a proper tram inside it.

There were other people, but the O.H. didn't even notice them as he gaped at the horse-drawn sledge once used by a lady of the manor to get around her East Yorkshire stately home.

On the way back to the car, we passed a characterful-looking pub called the Minerva, but the O.H. was now on a mission to have fish and chips in Hornsea (that boy spoils me).

As we bade Hull a fond farewell, I popped into some public toilets, complete with vintage water closets, fresh flowers, garden gnomes and certificates to mark the excellence of the facilities. There wasn't a queue because, as the O.H. had predicted, nobody else was around.

Hull. Even the loos are nicer than you might think.

Updated: 10:19 Wednesday, April 19, 2006