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Published: February 21st 2007
The weeks since my last blog have been busy and have flown past. Uni is becoming more involved as I attempt to keep up with the readings, prepare presentations and actually attend my classes. I haven’t missed one yet, but I guess that’s not difficult on only six hours a week. These last weeks have been fuelled by frequent visits to the chocolate shop (dangerous place), the fish and chip shop and Caley’s hot chocolate, none of which has any positive influence upon my health aside from making me happy.
On a healthier note, I have begun what promises to be frequent patronage to the Spice Man in the marketplace in town. Meags was the first to reveal to me the wonders of this place, full on Hessian bags folded down , containing dried fruits and legumes. On the back wall are lines of plastic containers containing loose spices and herbs to be dished out by the gram on a set of stainless steel scales. At first I was a bit disappointed in the Spice man, he was rude, staring off into space and measuring out spices slowly to prove a point. He stood there singing to himself whilst lining
up the change in size order, quiet carefully spinning the coins around to align with one another for a bit of order. Only when he was satisfied with his creation did he hand over the goods and the change and it was at first that I decided this man was a bit of a prat. However, after eating 250g of Australian sultanas and wanting more I was compelled to revisit the Spice man, despite my misgivings, and fuel my new found addiction. On visiting by myself, he was just as slow, yet this time he engaged in conversation and even mocked my Australian accent in his robust rolling voice. “Two hundred and fifty grams of Ostrailian sultarnas” he said, before I could even ask him what I wanted. All I could do to recover quickly was say “Yes thankyou”. That’s quick thinking for you.
Thus we have commenced a relationship with our Spice man that involves talking about the Poms losing the cricket, the Aussies losing the Rugby and various other topics. He surprised us the other day when we asked him what liquorice root was. It was in this conversation that he revealed his knowledge of the Gallipoli
Cromer
Our first view of Cromercampaign as the Turks had chewed on liquorice root to stave off thirst.
In an amusing episode the other day we talked about Dame Edna Everidge and whilst he dished out my sultanas we tried to remember the name of the male alter ego of Barry Humphries, all I could come up with was “he has buck teeth that look furry”, a point on which we both agreed. Yet, as I was walking out of the market and stopping to look at fruit I heard a booming voice behind me yelling out. As I turned to see what the hullabaloo was I saw the Spice man yelling out after me “Les Patterson!! It’s Les Paterson!”
What a wonderful breed of people the British are.
Whilst on the subject of food, I have also found an organic shop selling fruit and vege in the Earlham rd shopping centre which sells groceries, bread and other delightful consumables. Whilst the range isn’t good, as it depends on seasonal availability, at least I know the food will be good for me rather then the rubbish they sell in the dreaded supermarket here. Frightful places.
Moving on from food though, our weekends
have consisted of staying indoors doing homework, visiting town and traipsing around the countryside. At the start of February on a cold, blustery day, we decided it would be a great idea to catch a train to the coast and spend a day in the seaside village of Cromer. Our exciting adventure to the seaside was on a Saturday where we caught the bus into the train station, hopping on the train at around 10am. A curious feature of British rail travel is that people are permitted to take their dogs onto the trains so on our way to Cromer we were accompanied by a pair of loving dog owners who walked their little Jack Russel back and forth between the carriages to give the little guy a bit of exercise. The train ride itself was one of the most interesting aspects of the trip as I suspect the driver learnt to drive a manual at the same place I did. Pulling out from the stations he would stall, or kangaroo jump the train while we stared at one another in mortified fascination that this was actually happening to us. I don’t even want to revisit what it was like
when he changed gears.
But we eventually got to Cromer. In one piece. Leaving the train we found a quaint little platform with flower boxes and a pub at one end as Cromer appeared to be the end of the line. We left the train station and wandered down to the seaside walking down wide streets with terraces lining them, all with different brightly coloured doors and with bulbs planted in the front yards.
On our first sight of the sea we were confused. What was presented before us was a brown wash, whipped up by the wind and churning the rocks and sand below. Extending out into this swelling mass was a large Victorian era promenade, such as the ones in British crime movies where the killer holds the victim in the dilapidated room, ready to sever their limbs just waiting for the police to arrive as the dramatic music reaches its crescendo. But I digress, as this jetty was a lovingly restored version, all white with fancy trims, curly lamps and boxes to shelter out of the wind. We were told that whilst in Cromer we had to do as the Cromerians do and eat fish
and chips out on this jetty, so obediently, we searched for a fish and chip shop to fulfil this obligation. Not finding any fish and chip shops, we descended down onto the beach level and walked along the promenade, out onto the sea as the brown water rushed underneath threatening to sweep the solid structure out to sea. Finding nothing out there, we decided to thaw our limbs out and sit in the café bar at the end of the jetty and watch everyone else falling over in the wind. That was fairly enjoyable.
Yet being the committed travellers that we are, we decided that this fish and chip shop really needed to be found, so we ventured back out onto the jetty and climbed back up into the town. Here we walked up snaky little streets until we finally came to the shop we needed. After ordering the obligatory chips and mushy peas we then walked back down to the jetty to fulfil the second part of our obligation. It was so windy, we huddled together into a tiny little shelter and munched on our chips whilst shivering and wishing we were in the warmth. When this was
done we decided that indeed, our trip to Cromer was probably completed as there was nothing else to do. Thus, we climbed back to the street level and trudged back to the train station with our pockets slightly lighter and our hopes for the day a littler bit darker. I am being overly dramatic about Cromer for a reason, and that is simply because we had a dull time in this seaside village that most people seem to hold a great affection for. We decided however, that although we didn’t enjoy Cromer, the dogs certainly loved it there. The dogs just love it at Cromer.
Our next stop was at a little town called Wroxham whose main attraction, apart from a place to hire boats to explore the broads, was Roys of Wroxham, an uber-market that encompasses nearly the whole town. Roy is something of a celebrity in this place and when I returned home later that night with bags of Roys shopping, I got a rather excitable reaction. We left Wroxham as the sun was going down on the bus back to Norwich, a pretty drive through some countryside and small towns, arriving back at the train station
to catch our uni bus home. What an eventful day it was.
The next week, Meags and I decided to venture into the castle again after everything had shut down in town for the day but before we could drag ourselves home again. A great deal, to “Pop in for a Pound” in the last hour, how could we resist? In that time we got to look at stuffed animals, mummies, medieval relics and tea pots as the Castle houses an exhibition of paintings and treasures along with the preserved touring areas. This was the second visit to the castle since the first visit as I had previously shown my friend Lucy around who had come up to Norwich for the day and therefore there was a lot I had already seen but then again, a lot I had missed.
So aside from having a wonderful time looking around Norwich and getting to know my wonderful new friends I had been attempting to keep on track with uni, which is proving difficult when there is always something to look at and visit. We visited town last week to go Guitar shopping with George who was just emerging from her confinement after getting the dreaded Flu that is going around campus. Whilst walking around the cold streets we stumbled upon an old church tower that had been partially destroyed in World War Two bombing raids and an old church yard where the tomb stones are so weathered and old, the dates are illegible. The crocus and snowdrops are peeking up through the grass heralding what I hope is the immanent arrival of Spring and the daffodils are pushing higher and becoming stronger, preparing for a magnificent show. The sun is setting at least an hour later then when I arrived here which is a lovely change, sun set at 4:30pm is just miserable. All of this creates an excitement at the change in the seasons as today when writing this, I sit with my window wide open, letting the sun and the breeze come into my room. It’s a wonderful change from snow and rain. I anticipate the arrival of Spring.
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Lucy
non-member comment
you should perhaps try Cromer in summer where the full horrors of the English seaside town will be revealed!nasty amusement arcades and candy floss and people freezing on the beach behind windbreaks!great pics of the pieryou've had some clear days. Still enjoying memories of the castle, have to come back!enjoy the Spring, it'll be lovely....