A Christmas Moment On Riverside

They do say sunshine is the best antiseptic. Quite right, because just stepping out onto Pottergate at ten thirty on Christmas Day did the job. Fittingly the bells were ringing but there was no one to be seen: Norwich Central's soul purpose was to provide some sort of post apocalyptic festival backdrop to two lone walkers.


The loose plan was to follow the Riverside Walk. A couple of minutes on and the first jogger passed us. Soon other walkers appeared, mainly adults, some in new M&S jumpers, all happy to smile and share, a "Merry Christmas." Sue latched onto this very quickly, taking it as a challenge to get a response from those people whose natural response, as they prepare to finally pass the person they've been approaching on a narrow walkway for the last two hundred metres is to look down or away. A couple of early-morning hoodies were completely thrown and I swear another guy's head spun, Exorcist-style in astonishment at Sue's random friendliness.

By now we were in that wealthy part of Norwich where the value of any property is directly proportional to your view of the cathedral. Seems a shame that wherever you go in this world, the church has nicked all the good places. Anybody like to put a valuation on that cricket pitch, belonging to Norwich School?

Next up - the poignant Christmas episode. Crossing our path, in the cathedral grounds, came an old lady, bent over, shoes busted and clearly homeless. Her faltering steps took her past the church doors where they were singing, "Hark the Herald Angels."

Inside the congregation were warm in the knowledge that they didn't have to worry about their winter coats, their cars or their Christmas drinks bill.


Outside in another world, not twenty yards away, the old lady was tending to her blue plastic home. With the sound of the singing all around, she kneeled, as she busied herself sewing and repairing her tent, ready for rain that night.

I don't think I have any more to add to that. Except to wish you all a Happy New Year.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Cake At Winterton

Thursday proved to be yet another perfect beach day. And we spent it at Winterton, a place I hadn't visited for a good few years. There's a good circular walk and we started from the beach, where the playlist in my head was all Lou Reed, Sinatra and the Shangrilas.
Crossing the sands to meet and greet us was Bill, the seal warden, a man in his element after the recent storm and sea surge. The story goes that half the seals at Horsey had been swept down the coast and were now littering Winterton Beach: the pups seeking sanctuary in the dunes while the huge males lay abandoned on the shoreline like a cargo of DFS sofas. Credit then to Bill and his team of volunteers for their rescue work.


For certain there's a Pixar movie here. Think about it: storms, lost seals, separation, desperate journeys and reunited families - a dramatic story, all dewy-eyed and done with funny walks and whiskers. It'd be a smash.

After weaving our way through the wildlife on the beach, we crossed a line of dunes, where you could quite easily make a cheap sequel to "Lawrence of Arabia." Through the dunes and the terrain changed again. Suddenly we were crossing a gently, undulating grass prairie that could have been the Dakota Badlands or even the Yorkshire Moors. And I guess it's this kind of variety that keeps people coming back to Winterton. In fact you could say - it's the wonder of Winterton.

But now here's the highlight. Stopping for a rest before the return leg, Sue produced some lunch, including two large, pieces of Christmas cake, which were pretty much perfect in every way. Pity you couldn't have been there.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Wide Awake In Wickhampton

People ask me,"Were you grumpy as a youngster?" Not sure really, but I was definitely agitated around eleven o'clock last Thursday. Maybe it was all down to Simon Cowell, cancelling on me at the last moment.

Desperate to get out the house, Sue and I took the road to nowhere, better known to you lot as Halvergate. The drive's worth it just for that blind summit: you know the one on Branch Road, just after you've turned off the Acle Strait. Meet a transporter at the top and you'd be in a ditch at the side of the road till after New Year.


Opening the car door, outside Wickhampton Church and everything picked up. The sky was a cold blue; the air crisper than a nasal spray and the only noise - a lone farmer giving it plenty on his tractor.

Ever heard of Andrew John Lees? Seems he's the guy who saved Halvergate marshes by campaigning against plans to turn the Norfolk wetlands into vast prairies of cereal production. With him in mind we set off across the marshes: Sue trying to photograph the birds and me getting down and dirty on an impassable, mud-bound bridle way.



By three o'clock the mist was forming, the dykes were iced and the sun had clocked off for the day. No matter cos we were energised, the endorphins released - witness Sue singing and traversing the path "Strictly " style as we headed back to the car.

Tips: this would be one great place to cycle in the summer, because there are paths leading off everywhere. It's also a good place to calm down. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Gateway To Yarmouth

People sometimes ask me when I first came to Gorleston.

Well it was almost thirty years back when I would travel by train from Norwich to Great Yarmouth and then bike into Gorleston. Believe me, my arrival point, that triangular area round Yarmouth station was never going to make it as a picnic destination. British Heritage and the National Trust wouldn't want to know. Sure it had water on two sides, but it also featured the Vauxhall footbridge, an unfortunate entry point to town and a horror movie setting late at night. Other attractions included a car park, car lot, car wash, lots of metal fencing, extensive advertising hoarding and more wasted space than you'd find in an episode of Dr. Who.


Well the other day I had reason to drive past the station and a flash of colour caught my eye. What was going on? Somebody had painted and restored the Vauxhall Bridge. The colour: a not unattractive rusty red. And there was more...

Opposite the station and stretching for seventy metres, was a twenty-eight panelled mural depicting Norfolk's close association with waterways, bridges and railways. The mural starts with the first rail tracks towards Acle, being laid in 1844. Other pictures show the flooding of Southtown, mods on the seafront and the Birds Eye factory responsible for the first ever fish finger. Ok - so the Louvre in Paris has no cause for alarm but heck - it was something!


Any local will tell you - it's gonna be a tough ask to restore this area. So deep respect for the people who are driving this initiative.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

Buckenham Air Show

This was a strange one so let me explain: Buckenham Carrs is an area, eight miles east of Norwich where thousands of rooks, crows and jackdaws gather each winter night to perform some crazy stuff, before roosting in the nearby woods.


To get there it's through Strumpshaw, along the delightful Low Road and round to Buckenham station. From here, it was just spitting distance to our viewing point, next to a ruined shelter on the edge of a stubbled field.

On arrival, daylight was bleeding and as we looked about, birds were beginning to decorate the trees and power lines, but there was no sign of the large numbers we'd been hoping for.

Now be warned - as an experience, this is something of a slow burn and it took a while, before we realised that the dark border on the far field, was in fact a carpet of birds.

And then things started to get interesting. Without warning the chattering built and gradually the swarm hovered, like some vast stealth jet, first swaying left and then right before returning to the ground. Each time this happened, the flock edged across the field, closer to our viewing point.

At 4.10 the Norwich to Lowestoft train lit up the countryside. Surely this was the signal - but still the birds stayed close to the ground.

After several false alarms and with the birds screaming, it was finally showtime. Positioned right in front of us, the birds rose up into a huge swirling vortex. At that moment, in the deep, black, cold of the Norfolk countryside, something essentially primal was going on. This was something to really put the wind up Tippi Hendren.


But there was more. Suddenly, over our shoulder, another swarm arrived, to swell the numbers. The sky was now full of birds (up to 50,000) shrieking and shape-shifting: and I was laughing out loud because it was so exhilarating. Five minutes later and it was over.

So here's what to do: choose a clear evening, tap NR13 4HW into the sat nav, make up a flask of hot chocolate and take the kids out for an adventure.

They'll love it and so will you.

Location:Manor Road,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

Riverside - Gorleston

So much for my plan to visit Sandringham.

With the wind blowing and rain threatening, Sue and I opted out and instead ventured down Riverside Road. But where to start?

Let me set the scene: imagine you're standing in Morrisons' car park. Got it? Now hang a right into Blackwall Reach, past a strange mix of terraced housing, new build, industrial garaging, overgrown wasteland, collapsed walls and general urban spew. You're right - it's not the Riviera and yet, situated in the heart of town and with views over the river, the area is not without a certain rundown charm.

Onto the High Street and after passing Koolunga House and the 121 mile marker to London, it's all downhill to Riverside.



Immediately the temperature drops five degrees and with eyes at half mast, we head on past the moorings, quays and storage units. Squatting on the hillside are a couple of luxury homes built to enjoy the river traffic, and I guess the freezing weather, come January.

Next up it's the former home of Halls Precasters - unfortunately the site now resembles downtown Beirut after it's been overrun by some new form of triffid. Shame.

The wonder of Riverside Road is up next. Situated at the rear of Morrisons' car park and standing higher than the Taj Mahal is the most goddamn awful block of flats you have ever clapped eyes on. The true wonder is that anyone saw fit to grant permission for a monstrosity better suited to Southbeach, Miami. Some might think the building ripe for detonation.

Let's not forget the south end of Riverside which has plenty to offer, especially should you want anything, painted, welded, fitted or fixed; it's also good should you have a sudden desire to dance, box, join the cadets or help out with the RLNI. Nice if you like that sort of thing.

Turning into Bell's Marsh Road and the clouds suddenly turn darker than Dulux's Matt Black. The sudden heavy, rain is a timely reminder of the brave (some would say foolhardy) people who live on Riverside. When time and tide combine on a February night, I wouldn't want to be the first line of defence when the North Sea starts cuddling up.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

High Times At Horsey Mere

Don't expect a proper report today because it's not happening. My detailed plan for an all-encompassing five mile hike was binned, dumped, shredded and forgotten before a step was taken. And maybe this blog will be better for it.

Last Thursday we showed up at the National Trust site at Horsey Mere. Now am I right in thinking the National Trust is worth millions? If so charging people to park in the middle of nowhere might go some way to explaining their wealth.

With us today were two of Gorleston's finest: pop-king Ronaldo and drama queen Sharon. With no clear agenda we just headed off in warm sunshine, enjoying the opportunity for a catch up. Something usually happens. And indeed, it did.

Tracking across the top of the dunes, we sensed something. Up ahead, another walker was beside himself with excitement. In his newly adopted role as tour guide, he delighted in informing everyone, that one of the grey seals on the beach was just about to give birth.


From a seal's point of view you couldn't have chosen a better day: the media intrusion was probably less welcome. People watched with their cameras as the troop of pregnant seals started the shuffle. You know that dance they do: kind of a cross between the funky worm and the sea saw; the whole thing oddly reminiscent of Ann Widdecombe's worst moments on "Strictly Come Dancing." I'm guessing the dance is dual purpose, in that it proves a pleasant distraction while also serving as a useful pre-birth loosener.

Let's hear it now for mum. With no dad in sight she did a fine job. No gas and air, no epidural and pretty much no fuss.

With mother and pup doing well we headed off to the Nelson's Head to celebrate. The pub is real old school: the sort of place where you know they're not going to waste money on anything that's not essential - decoration for instance. But there are plus points - an open fire, Woodfordes' beer and a couple of outside benches that would be lovely on a summer's day. As for the food ...well I'd suggest a picnic unless you're partial to a spicy parsnip soup served up as a purée.

So there you have it - not a travel report but I guess a birth was always going to be more interesting.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

A Quick Fix On Burgh Marshes

Generally I've got this blog in hand. But not this week - oh no! The visit to Burgh Marshes was a late, late call to make sure I had something to write for Remembrance Sunday. And besides, Sue and I, after a busy ten days, were in dire need of laughing gas, a visit to the pub or a trip into the great outdoors. Given that it was four in the afternoon and the laughing gas store was closed, we opted for the latter.


The road to the marshes couldn't be easier. Go to Burgh Castle, turn at The Queens Head and park up: first left on Marsh Lane. At this point you will still be unaware of the wonderland that awaits.

However follow the muddy trail, pass some impressive cottages and you'll come out on the south side of Breydon Water. But before reaching the marsh, we bumped into someone working on the land. This time, it was local legend, Peter Pees, a musician who has worked continuously since the sixties: the whole scene, as we chatted was wall-to-wall countryside: reminiscent of a Constable scene but updated to include power tools and Pete's roll-ups.

Our conversation brought back memories of a previous visit here, many years back ..... on that occasion we had ventured far out out on the marshes, with Sue leaping, like some Spring lamb from one tuffet of grass to another. Now you don't need me to tell you that the whole marsh is one vast, ice-cold sponge. Regardless, Sue cheerfully ignored my warnings before disappearing through the next tuffet and resurfacing in a state of shock. I shouldn't have laughed cos it really wasn't funny. Oh and it's probably worth mentioning the month ....February, and the distance to our car .... two miles.

This time all went well. Unbelievably, just as we opened the gate onto the marshland, the sun came out, highlighting the gold reeds and the emerald grass. Suddenly life was "in session" as they say. Up ahead the horizon was pierced by wind farms, windmills and narrow dykes running straight to the skyline. Immediately muscles began to relax.

For me there is no better way of moving a mountain of frustration than by spending an hour in the real world. And so it proved to be.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

The Path From Burnham Overy Town

My brother likes the south coast because he says it smells.

My brother also likes the North Norfolk coast because he can walk and spend time reading. To really enjoy the experience he likes to be holed up in some remote shed. And the more dilapidated it is - the better he likes it.

Worrying for his sanity, I invited myself up last week for a catch up. This meant setting the sat nav for Gravel Cottages in Burnham Overy: a town so small that you've passed it, by the time you've said it.

To be fair it wasn't all bad; Chris had a nice open fire going and the cottage had two attractive, picture windows: one affording views of the town graveyard to the front and the other a tractor graveyard to the rear. Each to their own eh?

We didn't do a lot, but then we didn't plan to. By now our relationship is as comfy as a well worn shirt, so we chatted and had tea before we got "layered up" and headed out into Nelson country. Think of Compo and Clegg and you've got the picture.

From Chris's front door, we followed what was virtually a private path that opened up into a broad green trail, which in turn lead onto open countryside, where amazingly, we were caressed by those warm breezes that have been hanging around Norfolk for the last couple of months.


Later, tripping down Gong Lane, we had our first views of the sea and some beautiful homes. The paradox here was that nobody was home to enjoy the wind and the warmth because they were all out working to pay for the view. And hell yes I'd love one of those houses.

End of the trail brought us out at Burnham Overy Staithe and the Nelson pub. You know the sort of place: lots of light wood; too many people in corduroy who never give their gas bill a second thought; and fish and chips at £13 a go. Time for a rethink or a major fire.

Having reached optimum refreshment level we sauntered down to the harbour, hoping to see the sea: well, I'm calculating any water was at least three miles away. Never mind - following the coastal walk we admired the expensive cottages, all the while calculating which ones would flood first. Came to the conclusion that the whole area was doomed and that we were better off up a hill in Norwich.

All in all a fun outing and one I'd recommend, as long as you don't mind the smell - the smell of money that is.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

Chedgrave And The Great Beyond

People love to bang on about the UK being overcrowded. Well I'm not so sure: I say that because everywhere I've visited over the last six weeks has been empty - and last Tuesday proved to be no different ......

So it's Monday evening and Sue has just chucked a photo-copied map at me saying, "That's tomorrow's trip sorted."

Chedgrave? I remember playing a gig there once; and I know the White Horse serves Timothy Taylor; and Kelly once had a dodgy boyfriend who lived out that way. But what's to see?

**************************

By nine thirty we are parked up in Chedgrave, alongside the graveyard - always handy I guess, should things go badly wrong.

Five minutes after descending the path between an orchard and some mellow-bricked cottages and I'm already considering a move to the country.

See this is what gets me: before you can say "countryside" we are crossing a vast meadow, topped by an over-arching blue sky. And there's just nothing in any direction, but a whole bunch of nature. So how come there are so many areas like this in Norfolk that I've never been to? And how comes there's only ever a few lost souls wandering these backwaters?



The next five miles are fun. Early into the walk we chat with a pair of returning cyclists. "How far you been?" I ask. "Two hundred yards," he replies, trying desperately to keep a straight face so as not to blow the comedy moment. Next up Sue, super-charged with endorphins, is climbing an oak overhanging the River Chet, just at the point I strike up a conversation with a local. Ten minutes into the conversation and with noises coming from behind me, I have the surreal pleasure of pointing out my girlfriend, "Yea she's the one in the tree." Soon after that comes the "Danny the Champion" experience: Sue's not great with birds, so the moment half-a-dozen pheasants ambush her in the trees proves interesting. Interesting, if you like a lot of screaming and flapping.


But best of all is the part where we come across a crew of ten people doing some dredging work on a new canal. No let's be accurate: one guy's operating the digger while the remainder in what look like brand new helmets and high vis jackets, stand, hands in pockets enjoying the sunshine. It looks like a civil engineers' convention and I am about to spoil it. At the moment I take the photo, one of them sees me, shouts and suddenly they scatter faster than the aforementioned pheasants. I'm guessing they're alarmed at the prospect of my photo getting back to the people who pay their wages.

Finally on the home stretch, the skies darken and the rain arrives, but by then it doesn't matter because in the words of American DJ, Wolfman Jack - "it had been a toe-curlin' blast."

Location:Pottergate,Norwich,United Kingdom

Pilson Green Declared Safe

Today's trip out was very much a last minute thing. Looking at a map and googling stuff, I picked out Pilson Green in South Walsham and that's when the fun started. The first hit listed Pilson Green as a "chav town" with high levels of anti-social behaviour. What! The second hit was for a windmill and the third said, and I quote, "our missing person tracing process in Pilson Green has helped locate thousands of people over the years..."

Well, I'm sorry I simply don't believe it. And what's more I was going there to prove it.



Taking no chances, I set off that afternoon with a stab vest and sun glasses. Five minutes on and I was driving the Acle Strait, with thunder rumbling overhead, like a Stranglers' bass line. Another two minutes and I was driving in the rain and more worryingly the dark. It was 2.20.

A lucky break in the cloud enabled me to see again and park up by the pond on the Green. Nervous about chavs and the weather I strode off down Fleet Lane to explore. Obviously this was a popular route, because there was a visitors' centre, enterprisingly housed in a telephone box. Less to vandalise I guess. Down the far end of the lane were lots of posh houses, all with names like "Broadview" and "Riverview."They also had high fences, so in reality you got f*** all view.

Now I'd only come expecting to see a pond and the accompanying low life, so stumbling across a five mile riverside walk was something of a bonus. At one point, in a scene straight out of "Great Expectations" I stood alone on a bend in the river, with a panorama across the marshes, straining my eyes as I looked for runaways - but nothing. Sadly the rain curtailed my walk but the outing was a useful reminder that you don't have to always travel to North Norfolk. The good news is that it's all here ... and close by.


And more good news: at no point in the afternoon was anybody stabbed; nobody offered me drugs on the tow path; and in the entire history of East Anglia I doubt whether anyone has been abducted while feeding ducks at the pond. With that knowledge I declare Pilson Green safe for visitors.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

The Magic Of Wheatfen

Now generally I don't trust a man in a fleece or a big wooly jumper, but in the case of Nobbsy, the warden at Wheatfen I'm prepared to make an exception. Here was a man who knew his fauna from his fungi. A man whose job was simple: namely to maintain the 130 acres of strange swampland that make up one of the last tidal marshes in the Yare valley.

So what was I doing here, just a mile away from last week's destination in Bramerton. A mile it may have been, but as Mike my old Peckham school friend (and the person who suggested this visit), assured me, it might as well have been a million miles. And so it proved to be.


The Ted Ellis Trust, endorsed by David Bellamy and aided by Anneka Rice, was set up to preserve the area and honour the man who worked here for forty years: a man whose philosophy as a naturalist was, "to look after the area, by not looking after it." Pay attention Michael Gove.

What you've got here, is a place that is completely unspoiled: an oasis of calm, suggestive of a time when life was much simpler. Just a two mile stroll will take you through a varied environment: watch the fast-filling dykes; peer through the creepy forest, suggestive of dark spirits; and walk winding paths with the consistency of sponge pudding. This primitive playground is perfect for ambling and relaxing, while contemplating a more spiritual lifestyle. Unsurprisingly there is a Buddhist retreat just up the road. If you want picnic tables and a souvenir shop - look elsewhere. But for the rest of us, a morning spent here is as good a form of self-medication as I can come up with.

Nobbsy says the place is spectacular after a frost. I hope to be back to see.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

Autumn Arrives In Bramerton

It was that time of year again: that time when summer gets re-acquainted with autumn. In fact I'm thinking Sue and I were there when the official handover took place.

Recommended by Sylvie we were in Bramerton, a small riverside village, just spitting distance from Norwich and a smart choice for those who like to walk but are reluctant to venture too far from the nearest pub.


The walk was indeed lovely: a circular route, branching off the much longer Wherryman's Way. If you like variety, this was perfect, leading as it did, across the common, along the river bank, up High Hill, through tunnelled lanes, and down grassy dells. At one point we followed a path through forest, alongside allotments and across people's back gardens, evoking memories of that scene in "Hot Fuzz," where the fat copper trashes the fencing.

We talked as we walked, sorting our diaries for the month ahead, aware only of a warm breeze, a distant buzz saw and the noise of stuff falling from the trees. That would be the sound of autumn arriving.

With hearts pumping and spirits lifted, we arrived at the Waters Edge, better known to you lot, as the Woods End. In the pub, Sue's first words were, "I wouldn't want to mess with that guy." "That guy" turned out to be le grand fromage and he couldn't have been nicer.

Somebody has thrown a lot of money at this pub - and why wouldn't you given the wonderful location. If you like a view with your meal, real ales, lots of light coloured wood and those high stools you need crampons to scale then you'll love this place. Just bring plenty of cash.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

The Bus To Martham

There's no easy way of saying this, but the other day I caught the bus to Martham. I know what you're thinking - why would you even bother?

Let me explain. Just fifty yards from Sue's front door in Hopton is a bus stop for the 1A and sometimes, as I pass by, I get to wondering whether I'll ride that bus before I die.

Now for some reason the thought stayed with me, like one of those naughty dreams that flavours your whole day and so last Thursday, with blue skies calling and a bus pass in hand, I finally flagged down the 9.48 bus. I'll be honest, my expectations were not high.

You won't remember last Thursday, but here in Norfolk it was positively, continental. Sitting top-deck, wrapped in a comfort blanket of warm sunshine I tried to second guess where the driver was heading. Maybe it was his birthday, because clearly he had been given carte-blanche as far as the route was concerned. I'm guessing instructions were along the lines of, "Just get to Martham before midday." Marine Parade on Gorleston seafront looked utterly sensational. After Great Yarmouth, the bus weaved through Scratby, Hemsby and Ormesby, all the while just a kick in the pants away from a sparkling North Sea, (now that's a phrase you don't hear too often).



And suddenly I was getting off the bus in Martham. And it looked like they'd been expecting me: the grass on the Green had been cut, the litter collected, the children returned to school and the sky enlarged to twice its normal size. Like some old codger I sat on a bench reading, relaxed as a sunbather. Next up it was a tour of the village, before having fish and chips down by the duck pond. It was only an hour but for that hour I owned Martham.

Back on the bus I reflected on what I'd learned: namely, that in most cases, it's better to go than not go.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

The Lakes At Lound

For some weeks now the Water Board has been targeting Sue's house, encouraging us to pay a visit to the lakes at Lound. Finally we decided to investigate.

The lakes, which include the famous one at Fritton, are located on the Norfolk/Suffolk boarder and track west, before eventually emptying into the river at St. Olaves. Seems they were dug by hand some 150 years ago and now provide the water for Lowestoft, Hopton and the surrounding villages. That's a lot of water. Ironic then, that on our arrival at the 280 acre site, the fire alarm should go off. So much for peace and quiet.


Looking in all directions, I searched for the "wealth of wildlife", but nothing. Unsurprisingly the animals had scarpered, with hands over their ears, till the damned ringing stopped. Sue wasn't bothered, being far too occupied picking wild mushrooms.

Hiding the mushroom stash for later collection, we jumped on our bikes and entered the park at the lane just past Blue Doors Loke. This was more like it: clearly this was where to find the good stuff. We biked the hill and parked up at Fen Barn, an excellent location for a picnic with views. And did I mention the birds? Look I'm no ornithologist, but there were all manner of tits performing Top Gun style manoeuvres over that lake. I'm reliably informed that there were also 22 species of dragonfly in the area. Unfortunately I'm not the guy to provide that sort of detail. Maybe get yourself a leaflet.

The lakes proved a good place to relax and watch the wildlife, even if bizarrely the experience was accompanied, by a soundtrack of nearby gunfire. If nothing else it's good to be reminded that the best things in life are indeed, free. Oh and cycling back with blackberries and wild mushrooms was a bonus.

You could visit here on Sunday or you could go to a car boot. Your choice.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom

California Here I Come

When I first moved to Norfolk I was thrilled to discover that barely six miles from my home, was a place called California, so named, because gold coins had been found in the cliffs, at the same time as the American Gold Rush was happening. I have to say my first visit there was not great.

Well yesterday, almost thirty years later, I went back. Visualise if you will a one horse/one road town with arcades, a general store, caravan parks and Trisha's Chippy all fighting for scraps from Yarmouth's tourist industry and all living with the threat of erosion. At the end of the road, just before you fall into the North Sea, is the town's most famous landmark, the California Tavern.

This truly is, the land that time forgot: a place where non-standard construction is the norm, where health and safety officers aren't welcome and where a shanty town of lean-to's and unfinished DIY projects cluster together under a web of low slung power lines.

But here's the thing. As you stroll down unmade roads, gawping at gardens, decorated with choked plants, batteries, cars mounted on bricks and abandoned bikes, it's occasionally possible to catch a glimpse between houses. And there, just yards away, is grass sloping down to the sea and sky. Breathtaking. In the south of France you'd wait years and pay a king's ransom for such a place. Here I reckon you could pitch up with a van, put up a shed over the weekend and stay forever.

Hey I had a great afternoon - no really: many people, seeing the place, would order an immediate drone strike, but I enjoyed the town's ramshackle charm.

Would I live there? Well if you like the sea and the wind and life on the edge, then the place might appeal. I dread to imagine, however a winter spent perched on those cliff tops with the North Sea as your nearest neighbour. Tell you what though, it would make a great place to develop a serious drinking habit.

Location:Manor Gardens,Hopton on Sea,United Kingdom