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