Lost In Tyrell's Wood

Rather an inauspicious start today, when I dramatically fell out of bed in the early hours. I can recall aiming a retaliatory kick in the middle of a disturbed dream and then crash - I was on the floor. Hopefully the day would improve.

And it did. Driving south, Sue and I were blessed with sun and big sky during our excursion.

After attending to business in Long Statton, we parked up south of the town at Tyrell's Wood. Our intention: to fit some exercise into a busy day.


Inside the forest was lovely, full of every shade of green and all fresher than new money. All around us leaves were hanging on for dear life, in those final days before the forest stripped naked for Christmas. Underfoot, on the worn pathways, the soil was a rich black pudding mix.

Despite the sun's presence, walking in the forest was cold: finger-tingling cold, nose-runningly cold, face numbingly cold. Now if only my brain had been half as sharp as the weather, then we probably wouldn't have got lost. But distracted by a mad dog and multiple pathways, we ended up deeper in the forest than planned.

In our defence I have to say the Boudicca Way that runs through the forest is pretty poorly signposted, making it all too easy to get lost. This of course, could be handy, should you have an annoying relative that you'd like to "lose" over the Christmas period. A pre-festive walk in the wood could mean a joyeux noel for the rest of the family.

Trust me, you could not lose them in a nicer piece of woodland.

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

The Strumpshaw Fen Challenge

If this blog is not up to its usual cracking standard then there's a good reason. And that is, we met up with Dan Sullivan on Friday, before going to Strumpshaw Fen on Saturday. For some readers that will explain everything: others may need some clarification.

Friday evening was spent at the Plough, followed by Pizza Express. Not exotic I grant you, but it was fun and one way and another quite a lot of drink got drunk. This included a couple of pints of Grain, an elixir that could possibly bring about world peace. Next up there were pizzas, red wine and something called "Chocolate Glory", an ice cream loosely modelled on the Eiffel Tower. Sue reckoned, just looking at it, could give you heart disease.

Understandably we were a little sluggish Saturday morning. Truth to tell, my head was so anaesthetised you could have knocked a nail in and I would barely have noticed.



One thing I did notice, driving along Low Road towards our destination, was the flooding. Still feeling fuzzy, this did not present a problem. I simply told Sue to drive straight on through.

The plan was to make it to the fen for sunrise. At 7.30 things were looking up; the sky was full of eastern promise and the birds were out practising their formation flying, all to the accompaniment of gunfire: proving once again, that in the countryside, it's never too early to kill some wildlife.

I have to say sunrise was a disappointment, failing to deliver like a few girlfriends I can recall. Not to worry though because I think the early morning adventure did us some good. Particularly enjoyable was a walk through the forest, leading us along a tapestry of fallen, lemon and lime coloured leaves. Unfortunately, after an hour's fresh air we were desperate: desperate for fried food. On reflection Strumpshaw Fen might be best enjoyed with a summer picnic and maybe, a clear head.



Heading back to the car I hatched a plan involving eggs, black pudding, bacon, tomato sauce and tea. I think you can guess how the rest of the day panned out.

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

Crazy Bird Time At Breydon

So much for my plan to go nightwalking ........

Just after five this morning, we stepped out the back door of the pub. Blimey, the stars may have been out and the moon almost full, but it was still inky dark and kind of lovely.

First stop was Tesco, to get a torch. Hilarious. This pair of would be explorers couldn't get the torch out of the plastic moulding. And then guess what - the batteries inside, were also hermetically sealed. So a slight hold on adventure as we borrow scissors.

However, just a few minutes later we were at the start of the Angles Way at Burgh Castle. Stepping through the woods into this new luminous world was thrilling. For a moment, we stood still in the spooky, pre-dawn morn watching moonlight spill across the water.


As we walked, the day rushed to greet us. All too quickly. Soon the outline of cows and hedgerows developed like film before our eyes. From a ditch at our feet, an owl rose up before flying off. And then came something special: something fantastical.

To our left, not hundreds, but thousands of wading birds were flying towards us, following the course of the river. Skimming just above the water, this dawn flight continued for a good ten minutes. Ever seen that weird sequence with the birds in "The Notebook." Now imagine it in the semi-dark, but with more birds.

At just after seven, the sun rose revealing blue skies and the Yarmouth skyline. Feeling energised and somewhat reckless, we added a frisson of danger to the day's events by taking the underpass into Cobholm. Ah such fond memories.

Oh yes, the torch. Never switched it on. Didn't need to. But it'll be there for when we do a proper, middle-of-the-night, jet black, don't look back, night-walk. Stay tuned.

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

Reedham Sorbet

It's Friday, October 31st and another beautiful warm day, even if it is almost two o'clock before the sun has its hat fully on. Surely this must be the end of Summer.

Today we're in Reedham, a place I visit every couple of years, just to check nothing has changed. And it hasn't. It's still isolated, still consists of high roads and low roads and it's still unfashionable. So a good place to visit then.



Today we start by ditching the hikers' handbook and breaking with convention. How? Well, immediately on arrival at the quay, we find a sunny bench and get stuck into the picnic. Five minutes in and it's all over. Yes I know, you're supposed to go for a walk first. But damn it, we were hungry.

Ten minutes later and we're heading out past the swing bridge and onto the Wherryman's Way, where Sue is highly entertained by some particularly dumb sheep, playing follow the leader. For me though, it's more about the sounds of the countryside. You know: trains, planes and tractors.

Next it's country lanes and quiet conversation, well up to the point Lloyds Bank call me for the hundredth time because I've almost certainly been mis-sold PBI and they just can't wait to hand over thousands of pounds. Bemused by the phone call, we follow the old railway cutting, back to the quay.

Confident that I have money coming my way, we shall out the £4.00 for the ferry in an attempt to inject some excitement into a what's been, frankly a slow day. OK, it's not quite the last chopper out of Saigon, but it's worth it, just to disembark at a place called Norton Subcourse. Here, we are finally presented with a real challenge: namely that of driving blind into the setting sunshine. However it's worth it, because soon we are out on the marshes, where the sun sinks below the skyline like a giant, mango sorbet.

Location:Snake's Lane,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

Time Out In Wolferton

The one thing they're not making any more of, is time - don't matter whether you're rich or poor. With that in mind we set out last week to spend some (time) in North Norfolk.

It was while driving in the general direction of Sandringham, that we chanced upon the station. Sensing something special, we pulled over.

Now I know about stations, particularly Queens Road Station in Peckham: a colder, more miserable, god forsaken place it would be hard to find. The Royal Station at Wolferton is an altogether different proposition. Painted chocolate and cream, decorated with period posters and looking like a film set, it rates as the prettiest station in the UK.



This of course, is where the Royals would travel to, on their way to Sandringham and to see the train arrive must have been a fine sight. Heck, I bet there were no delays on that line.

Wandering about looking lost, we bumped into the owner, Richard Brown, who positively encouraged us to explore the station and pocket the goodies. And all for free - how refreshing!

In conversation, it soon became clear that we had found a man ready to confront the fire: a man who had happily pursued his passions: trains, cars and rock'n'roll. At the mention of the latter, Sue sensibly took a seat, knowing that this could take a while. Time passed pleasantly as we swapped stories about the Beatles and the Shadows, but eventually with the day waning and Sue edging me towards the exit, we said our goodbyes.

If you're in the area, then I would recommend popping in. Half an hour with this slightly, eccentric, rock'n'rolling stationmaster will be time well spent.

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

The Not So Secret Garden

Take the footbridge over Grapes Hill onto Earlham Road, pass the RC cathedral and turn left at the sign. Eh voila - the Plantation Garden.

The trouble is, you lot already know about this special place, because once again Richard was late to the party. How could I not be aware of its existence? I mean my flat is only five minutes away.


For those not in the know, we're talking about a three acre, nineteenth century, Victorian town house garden, tucked away, just inside the inner ring road. The former chalk quarry has been transformed into a gem of a garden, built with as many tiers as the Albert Hall, a secluded sunken garden, and a variety of follies and fountains. Inside is a revelation: imagine if you will, the Roman amphitheatre from "Ben Hur" crossed with the garden jungle from Spielberg's "Jurassic Park." This hidden retreat with its unusual setting and serious gardening has unsurprisingly become very popular. Weddings, craft fairs, jazz evenings and Cinema City presentations all happen here. Pop in midweek and you'll find the regulars happy to meditate, picnic or pass five minutes with a book.

More than anything this is the perfect place for a surprise outing. Find somebody who hasn't been here and casually take them for lunch. Nab one of the sunny benches and you'll blow their socks off.

If any of this is new to you, be sure to visit soon and be grateful this area didn't become a multi-storey car park, as was planned back in the seventies.

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

The Sparrow Dale Mystery

Could it be I'm the only person in Norfolk who hasn't visited Sheringham Country Park? Talking to people, that's the way it seemed.

Today's quest was specific: to find Sparrow Dale, a hidden valley within the park. Let's be serious now - how difficult could it be to find a valley?

We arrived to find admission was free, but parking was not. Well not unless you'd payed your National Trust membership.

The day was warm, but this was autumn and you could sense the melancholic mood each time another yellow leaf hit the forest floor. But the park was wonderful, fresh and greener than new money. Setting off under some kind of vast floral lampshade, we headed into the unknown, looking for the dale.

After some fruitless searching we ventured off track, and were soon deep in forest, in an area reminiscent of the Florida Everglades. This, said Sue, hopefully, might be the Dale. But it didn't feel like it. The thing is we didn't really know what we were looking for. With due respect to the authorities, a sign, "This way to Sparrow Dale" would have been handy, but then, probably not half as much fun.


Catching a view of the sea to our right, we turned down a narrow path, that slowly opened up to reveal a vast valley that you just wanted to run across. In the far distance was the sea and on the hillside to our left, a steam train appeared, just like in the "Railway Children." And then the penny dropped, as it tends to. How dumb were we! This was the happy valley. This was Sparrow Dale. Seemingly, some super power had transported a huge part of The Yorkshire Dales and dumped it in north Norfolk. The only mystery was how we didn't find it sooner.

My advice: pay the parking, walk the Dale and release some of those "happy hormones."

Location:The Street,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

Contemplating River Green

Big trip today. Walked out the flat, turned left and headed 400 yards down to River Green, the picture postcard capital of Thorpe Saint Andrew. Not sure where I mean? I'm talking about that pretty stretch between the River Garden and the Rushcutters - an amazing area, where the river, the railway and the road all have to squeeze past the bottom of the hill to make it into Norwich.


Way back in the 17th and 18th century, this area was known as Richmond of Norfolk, because it was heavily forested, highly fashionable and hence attractive to the wealthy: now any Dick can live there. But back then it was a favourite spot for wealthy merchants to built big houses: interestingly, most of the population were housed, in the county asylum, down the road at Saint Andrews Hospital. Spotting their descendants in Norwich, at the weekend, remains a popular pastime.

With its riverside location and a choice of four pubs, it’s no surprise that the whole world descends here at weekends and on sunny evenings. Well I was there at 8.30 on a Monday morning and things were quieter.

The first pub, the Town House, was in the middle of a makeover. Aware of the opposition, down river, it was attempting to up its game. Nice paint job and nice garden. Maybe just lose some of the furniture out back.

Next up the River Garden, also with a cracking garden. To one side is a path, leading down to a small jetty, opposite Norwich Yacht Club. Already on the river, in a secret, green world were some rowers and a gang of swans, out early, looking for small children to frighten. For a while I sat in the dappled sunshine until my quiet contemplation was broken by the 8.50 Norwich to Yarmouth train flashing through the foliage beyond.

In prime location, and still the family favourite is the Rushcutters. With its large river frontage and the green just outside, it's got everything going for it: willow trees, a beautiful copper beech, hanging baskets, night lighting and benches where you can sit and watch people pottering on their boats. All they need now is a decent chef.

But here's my tip for the day. Before or after a drink, look left after the Town House and you may discover Cary's Meadow. Sure I'd heard of it but I'd never located it. Big mistake.

The thing is you'd never know it was there. But it is and we're not talking about some grubby little playground. No sireee, hidden down there, by the river is a twenty two acre meadow, absolutely full of nothing: well apart from birdsong, wildlife, grasses, a variety of paths, insects and a whole lot of quiet.

Of course now I've shared it with you, that won't last.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

The B1159 - California To Cromer

Beat that for an exciting title. Look please yourself - you can read the article or go about your weekend business, without any argument from me.

The thing is, messing on google I found California to Cromer listed as one of the UK's great drives. Darned if I know how that happened. Had I missed something on previous trips along that coastal road? Sparked by the article I was determined to repeat the drive, this time with eyes wide open ..... and then as sometimes happens, it turned out to be a gem of a day: a shiny, golden, soft-top, window-down type day.

So let the drive begin:

In California, early Easter arrivals were chuffed to have the campsite to themselves, Scratby sparkled and even up the road, in Hemsby, the folk looked happy. As ever the Winterton Valley, with its giant wind turbines, looked like a scene direct from,"War of the Worlds". Wonderful views for sure, but alas, no sign of Tom Cruise.


It was just outside West Somerton that I screeched to a halt, entranced by the creek, a cluster of cottages and thoughts of an early lunch. At that exact moment I wanted a future, that included a boat on a river. I'd deal with the flooding later.

If Horsey Mill was all reeds, then Waxham was all coastal plain. Ingham was discreet, Happisburgh dramatic and Eccles was simply unbelievable - a psychadelic shithole, built with lego, by a bunch of drug-crazed DIY enthusiasts.

Pity too, poor Walcott, a town forgotten by the property boom - and now unfairly matched in a fight to the death with the North Sea.Today's main attraction - a car boot of storm-damaged material.

Next up and it's Bacton. Memo to the council - not sure you need that welcome sign. It maybe best, to let people just drive on through.

So moving on like a bat outta hell and it's Mundesley: a town of fine buildings, that always evokes memories of the Haig Club, a venue where the changing room, at the back of the stage, opens directly onto the North Sea. Not the place to be loading a van at 2.00 in the morning in the middle of February. Bracing doesn't quite cover it.

Today at 2.00 in the afternoon Mundesley looked magnificent. There I've said it.

The last leg of the journey and things are definitely looking up: Overstrand as ever, appeared classy and elegantly coiffured. And finally to ensure maximum sensory overload, it's a grand finish, racing downhill past the Golf Club and the Country Club into Cromer.

And there you have it. Ok, the title wasn't up to much but the drive - well for sheer diversity, it takes some beating.

Location:Pottergate,Norwich,United Kingdom

Stubbs Hill Stand Off

Sunset was due at 5.51 and it felt good good to be driving against the Friday night traffic and heading into the countryside.

A police incident at Rollesby meant a diversion, so we were forced to take the back lanes behind a Carlsberg lorry, which saved the council a lot of work by scalping all the roadside hedges. Given how narrow the lanes were, it was probably the best lorry in the world to follow.

With the sky tinting pink and the temperature starting to dip, we parked up at the NWT centre, Hickling, only to discover that Sue had forgotten her coat. Lucky then, that there was a fetching salmon pink blanket in the car boot.

Oh by the way, we were in Hickling to watch the raptor roost, having been informed that we could expect to see upwards of forty cranes and marsh harriers at some point after sunset.

The mile walk down to the viewing point was a bit special. We're talking sensory overload, what with the pathway arched in white blossom and the hedgerows framed in burnt gold. The only activity - a lone farmer ploughing, his every move followed by massed gulls.


On arrival at the viewing platform, the Barbour-clad twitchers were somewhat thrown by Sue looking sexy as sin, in leopard skin leggings and pink wraparound top. Opinion was divided: the outfit would either attract wildlife or give them all migraine. Unfortunately it proved to be the latter.

Thirty minutes in and it became clear we weren't going to see a damn thing. And that's when the stand-off started. We may have been inappropriately dressed, but as a matter of honour we weren't going to be first to leave for the pub.

Finally as we all stood shivering under a clear moon, the tall twitcher, took one last look at Sue before setting off home. His final remark on passing - " that's the first time in thirty years that I haven't seen a crane."

Personally I don't think the cranes, owls and marsh harriers were overly concerned with Sue's outfit. We were just unlucky, that's all.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Frustrated Of Shotesham

For some time now I've been trying to visit Shotesham, (pronounced Shot-s'm), but for whatever reason the planets refused to line up right.

Eventually three days ago, at my second attempt, I entered the village for the first time. And it is indeed lovely, but I'll level with you - not a lot happened and the stuff that did was frustrating. Here are the highlights:


Immediately on arrival I got excited when I spotted a large bird of prey, hovering over a bend in the road. Unusually, the bird didn't fly off and so I had time to set up my camera for what I imagined would be an award winning wildlife photo. It was only, composing the shot that I realised this was one of those decoy birds attached to a wire. Ok so let's cross ornithology off the list.



Not to worry because my attention was quickly drawn to the small river that raged across the valley floor. Soon I was thrilled to discover that a public pathway followed the river seven miles to Tasburg. This is what I'd been searching for - my very own mini adventure. Half a mile in and I could have been in the Louisiana swamplands; unfortunately my path to adventure had disappeared, under a river, that was in no mood to negotiate. So did I wade across to bring you a more exciting blog. Don't be stupid!

Hungry and a little dispirited I decided to cut my losses and head home. And guess what I saw while driving back through Lound. Yes you've got it - road closed due to flooding. Sod it - I just drove straight through.

Now let's see if the car starts tomorrow.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Asleep In Sea Palling

So I'm driving to Sea Palling and today it's just me, the sat nav and Nicky Campbell's Five Live Phone In, which is all about life in struggling seaside towns. And this is pretty much what I'm expecting from Sea Palling, a town with all the charisma of a door nob.

Things don't start well when I turn down Beach Road and can't find anywhere to park: not a verge, not a side road, nothing. Apparently downtown Palling is a shrine to the yellow line. By contrast the beach front is one huge car park and reluctantly I pay up, just one of two cars in a space the size of the Mojave desert. May I remind the council, it's January 31st and hardly peak visiting time. Ten minutes later I walk past a "Trust Parking" spot at £1.00 per day.

Stepping out of the car and nothing stirs; nobody is to be seen. The only sound - the rattling of the shutters on the cafe and the amusements. Heading to the beach, the last building I pass, is the public toilets, a place only the foolhardy or the very brave would dare visit. By way of compensation the beach is just as flat and lovely as everybody says.


Back in town I spot a person in the shop and I opt for a chocolate breakfast: a Toblerone, the size of a small roof beam. Energised I make for St Margaret's church and discover a couple of bespoke lanes, at the end of which are houses with uninterrupted views to the end of time. Indeed, with its cycle hire, church tea rooms, fudge shack and Tudor cottages, this place is starting to grow on me.



Before leaving, I turn off down the Marrams, a narrow lane that runs at the back and behind the dunes. Here enterprising/stupid people (you choose) have built all manner of sheds, huts and summer houses on the protected southwest side of the dunes. When I say "protected," that's a relative term, bearing in mind the millions of tons of North Sea Water just waiting behind you. To be honest I couldn't enjoy my tea with the threat of a tsunami ever present.

Given the fact that the people of Sea Palling don't get up much before ten, it's probably safe to assume they have the same cavalier, "don't give a toss attitude, about the North Sea, global warming or my parking problems. Me - I'd just like to know what medication they're on.

Location:Pottergate,Norwich,United Kingdom

Happenings On Sandy Lane

Funny old world isn't it. I mean the way things work out. One minute you're off out for a walk and the next, you're contemplating a new home .......

Early Saturday morning and we're tramping up Sandy Lane, Belton. And everything's hunky dory: muddy and damp maybe, but agreeably mild.


Five minutes later and without a care or plan in the world, we're idling across Caldecott Golf Course, admiring the houses. And that's where we meet the builder: the kind of guy who could sell gas central heating to the devil. We chatted and before you could say Scandinavian lodge, we were being guided round the latest in high tech, low cost living.

Ten minutes in and Sue has the cheque book out ready to sign. The patio doors have been widened, the en-suite halved in size, a bike shed ordered and the South Beach styling agreed. It was only as Sue finished measuring up for curtains that I succeeded in dragging her from the building. As always I am rendered speechless in the face of such pure, unconfined and boundless enthusiasm.

In other surprise news, we also managed to have an enjoyable early morning walk.

Location:Yarmouth Road,Norwich,United Kingdom

Two Sides Of Beckham

I'd just like to announce, here and now that today's headline is a cheap, cheap shot. And that Posh and Becks make only a cameo appearance in this blog.

The truth is I'm writing about East and West Beckham, two forgettable villages on the outskirts of Sheringham. Did I just say forgettable? - well that was what I thought, having previously never been aware of their existence.

To fortify ourselves for what was certain to be a disastrous visit, Sue and I opted for an expensive breakfast at Byfords, Holt. Apparently Prince Charles, Camilla and the two young 'uns had been in just last week.


East Beckham at first glance was not encouraging, stretched out, as it was, on a long (and winding) road, like some sleepy cat. Sure it was quiet: witness a pair of super relaxed pheasants, smoking and chatting as we strolled past. Ironically, the only motorised vehicle to break the silence was a blue and white Tesco home delivery van.

After ten minutes I was reduced to reading the parish notice board: and by the way, I'm pleased to report there was no crime in the last quarter and two new village signs have been erected.

About to give up on EB, we spotted a Loke heading hillwards. And suddenly the game changed: ahead were six lovely cottages with views and beyond that a delightful woodland trail hugging the fields. Give me wifi and I'd have been more than happy to have my groceries delivered right there. At the very last moment East Beckham had thrown down the gauntlet.



Heading west, it was now game on. On paper West Beckham had it all: big barns, big cars, pretty cottages, a church and a pub. But what's this: the pub was only open Wednesday to Sunday; the council tenants were kept out of sight down the dip; the estate house was backing UKIP and his neighbour was flying the very large version of the St. George's flag. And all around was the regular Norfolk sound of rooks and gunshot.

Now I pass no judgement - I merely observe but I like to think that Posh and Becks, even with all their moolah, would have made the right decision and chosen East Beckham.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom

Touring The Ormesby Delta

OK here's what happened. The weather was awful so the plan was to tour by car, taking in all those villages with the suffix, "by." Like Ormesby.

Seems the "by" bit comes from the Vikings and was used to denote the presence of a former farm/village. With that in mind, we set ourselves a challenge, to visit as many villages as possible and source some farm produce, all in two hours. Exciting eh?

Mautby was grey, green and brown and consisted of barns, farms and liquorice strips of road snaking across a wintery backdrop. Liked it. Scored eggs and a jar of quince jam.

Stokesby: more eggs. A pretty place with a number of houses for sale. Having seen the water level, I'm not surprised people were anxious to move.

Billockby: Apparently there were fourteen houses in the village back in 1900. No change there then. Nothing else to report but with such a great name who cares?

Clippesby: in 2011, a woman camping in the village died after being asphyxiated by barbecue fumes. This is still the big news.

Rollesby: must be some nice parts - it's just that we couldn't find them. However, picked up a cauliflower and established there was a car boot Sunday and a cross-stitch group Thursday.

Ormesby: a village green and a Spar grocery. Could it get any better? Stopped for petrol where I experienced the first urge to go home.



Hemsby: oh dear! Here things took a turn for the worse worse. Parked up between Katrina's (hairstylist) and the Internet cafe (boarded up). And look - another Spar grocery. In fact the whole town looked like it had been designed and built by Spar. Thought of the chorus to that Orange Juice song, "Rip it up and start again." Or maybe get the Vikings back to do the job. On the plus side, Sue managed to locate a home made flapjack.

Scratby: another great name and another place far beyond the reaches of WD40. Finally, overpowered by the stench from the garden/pet supplies centre I ordered Sue to drive me home.

Apologies to Filby, Ashby and Thrigby, for not visiting but by mid-afternoon my vital organs were starting to pack up.

And apologies to anyone I may have upset.

Location:Pottergate,Norwich,United Kingdom

Burlingham Woods Actually

Seriously is there some plan to keep all these good places a secret? I mean who knew you could follow a woodland route, through five different forests, taking in Burlingham Green, Lingwood, Hemblington, South Walsham and Acle. I hadn't a clue.

Well it almost didn't happen. One moment we were crossing the Haven Bridge in sunshine and the next we were aquaplaning up the A47. In fact, I felt like one of those storm chasers as we headed towards the heart of an all-consuming darkness.

Unsurprisingly the car park at Saint Andrews church was empty. Let's face it you'd have to be stone cold mental to contemplate a walk in such conditions?



The walk when we started half an hour later was interesting. A mystery path took us through a section of forest decorated with masks and strange totem poles: quite disturbing in the pervasive half light. And then the wind kicked off, and then the lightning joined in. Exhilarating .... certainly. Sensible ..... maybe not.

Well we pushed on regardless, determined to kick s#*! out of the elements. My main fear was not the weather but the sole-sucking, mud-sliding paths we were trying to negotiate. Visualise if you will, a hog on ice. One slip and I'd have been mud-coated. One slip and this would have been a cracking blog.



Sure we got wet but hey, we were out doing stuff. We were right there communing with nature. I mean what else you gonna do on a wet day immediately post New Year? Yes I suppose we could have watched, "Love Actually" while drinking tea and finishing the Christmas cake. Mmmmm ..... strokes chin and considers.

But I tell you what. Even in these conditions Burlingham kicked Hugh Grant's butt.

Location:Manor Gardens,Great Yarmouth,United Kingdom