Norfolk un Gud

Whimsy on a Wednesday bringing you a trip to the underrated arse end of Great Britain!

I sit writing this in a heatwave. It is day two of crazy temperatures and super high humidity in England’s green and pleasant land, though it’s not so pleasant without any air-con. I’m sheening; glistening. The house is shut down. The dogs are moping, lying as still as possible. All walks in the woods are off the cards as we set to reach 38 degrees with a swampesque sillage. On days like today I regret never moving to the seaside. I wish I owned a Mr Whippy van and a cold pool. But I don’t. I wish this was the day that I made the decision to go to Norfolk, but it wasn’t.

Fresh off the Italian Lake

Having got the holiday vibes I decided a trip to Norfolk was on the cards for a weekend. Norfolk is where the north folk are from. It has the earliest evidence of human footprints in a place called Happisburgh where sits an iconic red and white striped lighthouse. I don’t think that was there then. And, for those of you who can’t speak English, Happisburgh is pronounced Hayzbruh. Maybe they didn’t want to come across as happy, I don’t know. Norfolkians can be a bit odd.

Norfolk is a very underrated coastal county and I’ve only ever been to bits of it. I went on a boat around the Broads. That was lovely, apart from having to wave to everyone. It’s also not too far away depending on whether the one and only road in isn’t congested with numpties. But of course, it was. Just after Peppermint roundabout the traffic came to a go slow. Clearly, many had the same idea. Cos that’s when it should have been a heatwave.

My heroine by Poppy Field

On the way through I was astounded by how many poppies there were. All the verges, many fields, lots of gardens. Wherever I went, poppies lined the way. I was quite happy about that ( or should that be hayz?) because it is my favourite flower. I did wonder if some sort of opium cartel were living quietly off radar in the arse end of the UK, or was this the way they kept you here, high on narcotics and fish suppers?

It was absolutely beautiful to see them against the fresh green grass or mixed with buttercup yellow and pale blue flowers. Apparently, due to Norfolk’s sandy soil and conservation the landscape turns into a vision in scarlet during early summer and the poppy has become the official county flower. I have to say, it makes the drive most pleasurable.

Plans about Plans

So the plan was to go from one side of the coast to the other and visit lots of little towns in between. Some I’d already seen, but I wanted to know Norfolk properly like I know Cornwall. When someone says, oh, I like to go to such-and-such, I want to be able to picture it.

The other plan was to collect oyster shells and mussel shells for possible arty projects and Brancaster beach is renowned for such treasures. Not that I need any more treasures because I’ve got enough for a small village, but that’s not the point. The joy is in the collecting.

Eating fish and chips by the sea was also a plan and is a must do if you’re going to a Great British seaside. They taste way better when the sea-salted wind whips into your face and you are hunched over them to stop conniving seagulls.

I stayed in an old dairy which was conveniently positioned for visiting the coast or the broads. There are some beautiful houses in Norfolk as they are mostly made of brick and flint.

Where I was staying, there was a wonderful coastal footpath across the road that took you along the the clifftops.

“Be careful, though,” the owners said with a heavy Norfolkian accent. If you’re wondering what that sounds like imagine any weird, rather off kilter, British black comedy or horror story. The people talk like that. Heavy. Thick with menace. A little bit long in the vowel.

“That cliff there, it’s eroding. Don’t go sitting on the benches or we might not see you ‘gen.”

I looked deep into their eyes with a confident stare. The kind that said, you don’t scare me, I own wolves. Even though I was a little bit freaked out and getting goosebumps.

Lo and behold, halfway through the rugged walk there was a mad lady screeching from the clifftop and laughing manically. She was with a man who had snapped up his foldable chair and was marching back in my direction, eyes staring down at the track. Oh goody.

“Hiya!” I shouted. He completely ignored me. I was thankful for that.

The odd lady continued to bow to the heathers and shout at the sea. The wind was strong and I was hoping that she and it didn’t have ideas about pushing me off the top. Not that I’m dramatic or mistrusting in any way.

“It’s a bit fresh, isn’t it!” I offered jovially. She was staring right at me, I couldn’t not say anything.

“Wait till you get to the other side, HAHAHAHA!”

I was hoping she meant the other side of the headland and not something more sinister. I had that very uneasy feeling you get when you walk past someone odd which I appreciate is a bit rich coming from me. But, you know when you’re a bit wary, it’s very uncomfortable to have your back to the reason. I remembered some really cool glasses that had been gifted to me that had a mirrored part in the lens so you could see behind you. Why hadn’t I brought them along? I had my emergency clown nose but what was that going to do except encourage her?

Anyway, I made it through and saw the bench where you should stop and take a moment. I’d love to walk down to something like that everyday. Take a pack up of cheese and ham sandwiches and a sketch book. How nice would that be?

I visited lots of pretty towns, all typically English and beautiful with lots of artisan shops full of glorious things that you don’t need but desperately want. I found this especially true in the beautiful town of Holt that had so many! After having lengthy conversations (every time) with small shop owners, I always end up feeling like we’re now best friends and If I don’t buy something from their shop then I’m just a horrible, rubbishy person with no empathy. This is a brilliant sales tactic. It’s a bit like when you go to one of those fancy arts and crafts events and the stallholders hold you in their gaze and put their products in your hands. Taste it, they say, feel it, they insist, buy it, they plead with their eyes. I can’t tell you how many fake excuses I’ve used to suddenly disappear from a craft show. But that’s hard to do in a tiny shop.

I went to the beaches and they were lovely. Holkham and Brancaster the best. I collected many shells in my brand new sandcastle bucket! I was the only adult with a bucket and spade. If I only ever need one sentence in life to sum up who I am, then that is it.

I visited the seaside towns and my favourite was Sheringham. It had that nice mixture of nostalgic kiss-me-quick and artisan indie shops and cafe’s. Maybe it was because it was a hot day and they had taken the time to put bunting up, but it felt like it was loved. My favourite village was Cley-next-the sea.

Eventually, it was time to go home. The poppies lined the departure like a red carpet, the sun shone in the sky, and I felt like I knew another lovely part of Britain a little bit better. Thank you, Norfolk - I think it was rather folk un good.