The Bridge At Ingham

Come Friday and I was a man on a mission: namely to get some living done.

Once again my friends at BBC weather were spot on, because my arrival at Ingham church coincided with glorious sunshine. Oddly the car park next door was rammed. This was quickly explained when I realised the adjacent building was the Ingham Swan and that it was pints and not the pulpit that was attracting customers.

Dismissing thoughts of cool beer in a dark, pub lounge, I followed the path through the pretty graveyard. All around me spring was busting out, but all I could think was - what a lovely day for a burial. Macabre thoughts indeed.

Next up, it was straight across the field, along a path forged by some thoughtful, tank-driving farmer: then out onto a lane and past a notice advertising "Quiz & Chips" at the village hall. Shame I was busy that evening.

Now with Sue otherwise engaged, there was always a good chance today of a cock up on the orienteering front. So far it had been nay bother. But now I was facing my first problem: to make further progress, I had to find the bridge indicated on the map. Nothing. Ten minutes and a lot of zig-zagging later, I finally found the "bridge." Four steps was sufficient to cross it.

Finally after further bridges, banks, ditches and dykes, I spied Ingham church in the distance. Like some returning crusader, I was fully able to appreciate what a welcoming site this must have been for travellers in former times. 

Finally as I drove off, it was with raised spirits. Mission accomplished.

Thurne Photo Shoot

I don't doubt that one day soon I'll take a great photo; yesterday wasn't that day. Let me assure you, it wasn't for want of trying. With my handy Panasonic Lumix, I took over fifty shots, later edited down to just five that I liked.

Conditions at Thurne (turn left a mile after the Acle Bridge ) were ideal for both walking and photo-snapping.


On arrival we parked up at the Staithe: a kind of nautical cul-de-sac, with boats, birds, yachts and lots of rattling in the rigging. From here, we followed boot marks along the river and out past Thurne Mill. This stretch affords plenty to admire: marsh and moor; wind and water; distant churches, donkeys and an all round, top flight display of ducks and devilish air power. A smorgasbord of the natural world.


Turning away from what was now the River Bure, we enjoyed some wonderfully, exhilarating walking as we linked with the Weavers' Way. Here the wind dropped and the clouds disappeared, leaving us to admire the sunlit uplands ahead.

Yes, you read right - strangely for Norfolk, we were moving upwards, towards the church at the top of the ridge. Be sure to look over your shoulder, westwards, for a panoramic view of Norfolk's finest. Take an evening stroll with the sun setting and I guess you might get the picture I was searching for.

In a fortunate piece of planning, the final stretch was downhill, past the church, across a piggery and through some old farm buildings before returning to the Staithe.

It was three o'clock, it was Saturday and we had enjoyed a lovely walk on the warmest day of the year so far. So you tell me - where was everyone?

Location:Snake's Lane,Lowestoft,United Kingdom

Catfield Calling

The only reason I'm familiar with Catfield, is because Kim, who played in our band, lived out that way. Memories are of some barren, wind-swept place at the back of beyond. Maybe it was time to take another look.

Wednesday was a special hat blowing, hair pulling, car door slamming kind of day: a day for padded coats and silly hats. But along with the snapping wind, came bursts of sunshine that made you feel you were dressed in a pocket of warm air.

Pretty soon we were in Catfield and surprise, surprise ...... it turned out to be a proper village with a shop, a pub, a B&B and some lovely properties.

Soon we were walking across wind-dried fields and along pretty lanes. We were free to walk the middle of the road because there was no traffic, other than a giant TNT lorry, negotiating the lanes in search of Ethel at number seven, who had stayed in all day to take delivery of her new low-loader washing machine.

Having seen no one, we were surprised, at the next turn to meet up with the Highway Support Unit in their super, new van. Spotting us, two guys in attractive yellow tops, immediately jumped up and started repairing a tiny blemish on the road: we're talking here of a road ravaged by maybe twenty cars a day. Seems to me the Highway Agency needs to get out and about more.


Finally we shot off, like a pair of March hares, down a tiny track that brought us out next to the most perfect Georgian house: a house where you imagine life to be as contented as a baby's sigh. The picture was perfectly framed with a foreground of daffodils and a trail of smoke blowing across from a garden bonfire.

Wordsworth would have been thrilled.

Location:Snake's Lane,Lowestoft,United Kingdom