Knowing rain was expected, Sue and I turned up early in Banningham, a tiny village (population 524): of whom we saw three.
After just two minutes, it was obvious that our route for the day was flat and exposed. A shame then about the Siberian wind. Sensible Sue, looking like an extra from the Swedish drama "Fortitude" was appropriately dressed in arctic parka mode, while Dozy Dick, was inappropriately dressed in a crombie, more suited to Threadneedle Street.
Ok, for those of you who want nothing more than details of the walk - here they are: followed a nice stretch of the Weavers Way that traced the railway line from Birmingham to Great Yarmouth; did plenty of edge of field walking; found a few sheltered pathways, some hidden lanes and only had to negotiate a small amount of road work. Photographers will particularly enjoy the dead farm machinery that litters this area.
Now back to that long walk. It all came about, because we ignored the warning sign. Our short cut turned out to be an ankle-turning tangle of trunks and roots. Inadvertently we had stumbled into a No Man's Land inhabited by moles and a particularly vicious breed of bramble. With no way forward, we had to (like Shorty) cut across country.
This necessitated limboing under a barbed wire fence and then climbing over a second, less dangerous wire fence. Normally not a problem. Now factor in the information that there were just eighteen inches between the two fences and calculate the manoeuvre. The image of Sue burrowing for freedom, like some escaped POW is secure in my mental scrapbook.
For a good half an hour we were clueless. I mean we could have been in Belgium. Casting about for guidance, we eventually found a sign. It said Aylsham. Not at all what we wanted.
At this point we turned about and like a pair of lost souls, headed across the fields of North Norfolk, in search of the tiny village of Banningham.
Not my most glamorous angle! Xx
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