I was in Lincoln Cathedral (again) today and something made me laugh.
I couldn’t quite figure out a way to show it to you all so what I was trying to point out really came across, and this is the best method I could think of.
In one corner of the cathedral there is a board, aimed at children, asking the following question:
It’s a good way to keep the kids interested and give them something to think about and to do.
In a heartwarming way, a lot of the responses stuck to the board were noble, wishes to end world hunger, cure cancer and put an end to all wars and so on:
I continued to scan the board, though, confident that somewhere I’d find one where the author had not quite received the memo.
This one, I imagine, was a highly offended Christian adult:
That person is not, I’m guessing, much of a laugh.
Anyway, I soon hit the jackpot. Given the chance to be God for a day – the almighty – and to do anything you wanted, to make any change to the world you wished to, this person says:
I can’t think of a better way to achieve world peace, can you?
The last time I wrote to you, I was about to leave Nottingham for the next stop on my road trip holiday.
Before going away, I had read about Nottinghamshire in a book I had called I Never Knew That About England. The section on Southwell I found particularly interesting, with it being described as one of England’s least known cathedral towns. It turned out to be a perfectly easy stop on the way between Nottingham and Lincoln, so mum and I decided to go and explore.
The quite remarkable Southwell Minster. I didn’t have the patience to wait for the old lady with the walking frame to get out of the way.
Southwell is a small, pretty, well-looked-after town that is completely dominated by its magnificnet minster. Built in Roman times, it really needs to be seen to be believed.
The town is also famous for (and very proud of) being the birthplace of the Bramley apple. Mary Ann Brailsford, aged 9, planted some apple pips in her garden on the outskirts of Southwell in 1809. The resulting tree produced so much fruit that in 1856 the later owner of the house, Matthew Bramley, was asked if he would consider selling the apples. By 2007, 95% of total culinary apple orchards in England and Wales were Bramley apples. Mary Ann Brailsford probably never knew that the tree she planted had become so famous – when you think about it, we should really be making our apple pies with Brailsfords.
From Southwell, we drove on to Lincoln. This was my first time in Lincoln, but unlikely to be my last. With its castle and cathedral, I felt an immediate affinity with my beloved home city of Norwich. It doesn’t happen often, but Lincoln might actually beat Norwich for history – it still has a Roman archway that traffic passes through.
We had been warned about Steep Hill in Lincoln, possibly the most aptly named road in Britain. My dear mum, who is asthmatic, has a hernia and has just turned 60, surprised the both of us by managing to walk up this monster of a hill. Here she is at the top.
Mum at the top of Lincoln’s frankly ludicrous Steep Hill
Steep Hill was well worth the climb though, as the Cathedral Quarter at the top is beautiful. We went into the grounds of the castle and paid to do the castle wall walk. You get to walk all the way along the top of the castle walls, a full circle, and it was well worth the £10 fee to do so. The views are simply spectacular, both of the cathedral opposite and the surrounding countryside.
The cathedral as seen from the castle walls.Overlooking Lincoln from the castle walls
We decided to come back on Thursday to do the cathedral. The only other thing we did in Lincoln on Wednesday was have the best waffle I’ve ever tasted at Madame Waffle. Seriously, if you are ever in Lincoln, go and have a waffle at Madame Waffle. I had one covered in Nutella and topped with fresh strawberries and I am wondering if I will ever taste anything like it again.
The nave of Lincoln Cathedral was off limits to the public on the day we visited because it was being used for the local university’s graduation ceremonies, but it meant we got in for a reduced rate and got to experiene the atmosphere of a cathedral filled with the sound of organ music. There was still plenty of the magnificent building worth seeing, including the Chapter House.
The Chapter House inside Lincoln Cathedral
I had also read about a slightly more recent bit of quirky history to do with Lincoln cathedral. The story goes that a boy, Gilbert Bell, was playing with a tennis ball in the shadow of the cathedral, all the way back in 1914, when it unfortunately became stuck in the mouldings of the building. It was too high to even entertain the thought of climbing up to retrieve it. And there Gilbert’s tennis ball has remained! 110 years on, the tennis ball is still lodged in place – and I managed to find it!
Gilbert Bell’s tennis ball, lodged in the mouldings of Lincoln Cathedral since 1914
The final stop on the road trip was to Boston. Boston is famous for being the place a lot of the first pilgrims that travelled to the USA came from – and that is very much what the town shouts about. References to the pilgrims are everywhere – in statues, in street names, in pubs. I don’t want to be too negative about the place, but I can understand why the pilgrims were so keen to leave! Of course, the Boston in Massachusetts, USA takes its name from this Lincolnshire port.
Yes, Boston is a little on the rough side these days. A lot of it needs regenerating, I was wary of the locals and I made sure I wasn’t still out after dark. But our accomodation, the Quayside Hotel, was a gem. Its owners were actually once winners on the Channel 4 show Four in a Bed. The rooms were small but had everything I could wish for.
Relaxing on my bed in the Quayside Hotel, Boston
Undoubtedly the jewel in Boston’s weathered crown is St Botolph’s Church, known locally as the Stump. The sheer size of what is simply a parish church would put many cathedrals to shame. We had a great time wandering around, taking in all the details, and watching resident ‘morale assistant’ dog Morse running around with a tennis ball.
St Botolph’s Church, Boston, knows as ‘the Stump’
And so to Friday morning. Mum wanted to go to the coast, look back over the Wash to the shoreline of Norfolk, and take in the view that she had so often seen from the other side. We achieved this at a salt marsh about twenty minutes from Boston.
Salt marsh near Boston. In the distance you can just about make out the Norfolk coastline (the Hunstanton/Heacham area)
Then it was time to head home. Another lovely holiday is over, and on Sunday it’s back to the Misery Dome (i.e. work) for me. But I have really enjoyed myself. It’s been lovely to get away, to recharge, to see some new sights. I’ve even walked in the footsteps of royalty. I saw a great day of cricket and discovered Lincoln. I come home happy.
I’m writing this in my hotel room near the River Trent, where I am on holiday.
The main reason for coming here was to watch the England men’s cricket team play in the Test match against the West Indies at Trent Bridge, my favourite cricket ground in the country. Mum and I had tickets for the fourth and fifth days of the match, and after England thrashed the tourists in the first Test at Lord’s – completing the victory an hour into the third day – we had our fingers crossed that the game would get that far.
Thankfully, the West Indies put up much more of a fight in this one and we made the two-hour journey from home on Sunday morning with the weather set fair and a finely poised cricket match in prospect.
The view from my seat at Trent Bridge for England v West Indies
In the end, we couldn’t really have asked for better! We saw Harry Brook complete his first Test century in a home match (his other four had been overseas), Joe Root reach not only 50 but then a hundred of his own (his 32nd Test century), Shoaib Bashir take a 5 wicket haul, and an England victory on Sunday evening. We will get a refund for the fifth day tickets, so we haven’t been left out of pocket.
Finding ourselves with a free day on Monday, mum and I went into Nottingham to explore. Nottingham has some interesting old buildings but I would describe it as rough around the edges. There is a lot of building work going on, but large areas seem almost to have been left to ruin. Centuries old architecture stands next to unsympathetic concrete monstrosities. It made me appreciate Norwich even more!
Here are a few things I’ve learned about Nottingham though:
Traffic lights: my word, there are a lot of traffic lights in Nottingham. The city seems to have a problem with queues of traffic, and from what I can see a lot of them would be eased if they didn’t have so many traffic lights. It makes sense, though, when I discovered that Nottingham is the birthplace of the traffic light. Engineer John Peake Knight adapted the signalling system used on the railways for the roads, although the first one was installed in London in 1868. Nottingham’s Radcliffe Road (which runs behind the cricket ground) was the first road in the world to be covered in tarmac.
Ibuprofen: at one point yesterday, mum asked me to go into a shop and buy her a couple of packets of ibuprofen. It wasn’t until I got back to the hotel and did some research that I discovered Nottingham is where this particular painkiller was invented. Dr Stewart Adams developed ibuprofen, in an effort to find an alternative to aspirin, while working in the laboratories of Boots Pure Drug Company Ltd in the 1960s. Jesse Boot took on his father John’s herbalist shop in Nottingham in the 1860s and transformed it into the famous Boots chain of chemists we know today.
Nottingham High School: having made the effort to get to the top end of Nottingham Arboretum – the city’s first public park – we were greeted with the elegant building that is the fee-paying independent Nottingham High School. Looking into it, I discovered that Norwich-born former Labour MP Ed Balls went to the school, as well as the footballer Patrick ‘Barn Door’ Bamford, who had an unsuccessful loan spell at Norwich a few years ago. He now plays for Leeds.
So that’s the Nottingham leg of this holiday complete! Today we are off to explore Southwell (plenty of old buildings) before we reach our next stop in Lincoln later.
Thanks for reading, I’ll be back with some more in a couple of days. Here are a few photos.
Mum and I outside the Theatre Royal in NottinghamThe Chinese Bell Tower in Nottingham ArboretumThe magnificent building of Nottingham High School, where Ed Balls and Patrick Bamford were educated
Here are the highlights of the cricket we saw at Trent Bridge on Sunday:
While anxiety still constantly lurks behind me and attacks at random moments, I am dealing with it better than I could before all of this happened. I’ve learned to acknowledge the beginnings of a panic attack but not let it take over. It hasn’t got any more pleasant, but it is a step forward.
I am now in my second week back at work, still doing shorter hours for the time being, and while I have got back into the swing of things quite well and been blown away by the warm welcome from my colleagues, there is a growing feeling that I won’t be truly able to move on from this episode unless I make a fresh start elsewhere.
Gressenhall
I got a museum pass for Christmas, allowing me unlimited entry to ten of Norfolk’s museums for a whole year. I love museums, so this was a great gift for me, but with the first quarter of my year being taken up by The Darkness (the illness, not the Lowestoft rock band from the 2000s) I hadn’t had the chance to use it until last Wednesday.
I went to Gressenhall Farm and Workhouse, only three miles or so from home, for a wander around. The building itself, which looms over you as you drive between Dereham and North Elmham, has always given me the creeps. Knowing the hardship that the people in a workhouse went through – separated from their families, worked to the bone and given hardly enough food to live on – makes me feel uneasy. But it was interesting to learn about how the place operated and its joint purpose as a museum of rural life means it has a few buildings laid out as shops from decades past, as well as a room made up like it was the 1950s.
Across the road there is the farm with horses, cows, sheep and pigs. Being spring, there were a couple of lambs and some recently born piglets to see. When I sent my mum the photo of the piglets, she replied ‘aww, little bacon rolls’. Mother! Here is a gallery of some photos I took on the day.
If you fancy a day out, whether you’re alone like lonely old me, or want somewhere to go with the family, I heartily recommend Gressenhall. A museum pass is only £42.30 a year for an adult if you pay by direct debit, which is great value when you consider one visit to Gressenhall would cost you £16.10.
Half Man Half Biscuit
I’ve been listening to Half Man Half Biscuit a lot lately. They are a Merseyside rock band who have been together for 40 years this year and are known for their great riffs and brilliantly funny lyrics. Right up my street. What about this for a line?
There’s a man with a mullet going mad with a mallet in Millets
National Shite Day by Half Man Half Biscuit
Pure poetry. Why not give them a try?
I think that will do for today. It’s good to be back! Thanks for reading if you made it this far.
It’s what literally no one has been waiting for! Part 2 of my write-up of my holiday in Wales. If you haven’t read part 1, click here to get up to speed with Barry Island, Chepstow and Hopwood Park Services.
Day 3 – Wednesday 19th July
Wednesday was mum’s birthday, so the morning involved her opening her cards (I now have a five year streak of producing tears with mine) and presents (the Garmin fitness tracker, a joint gift from me and Dave, was well received). But we didn’t have much time for that, as we had to be on the train fairly early again. We were heading back into England – we were going to Bristol.
The trip to Bristol obviously involves crossing the River Severn again, and on the train it means going underneath it via the Severn Tunnel, not something that mum enjoyed. Anyway, it was quite a short journey and we arrived in one of England’s great cities.
I had never been to Bristol, but read and heard much about it. This was Brunel country, a big city that somehow doesn’t have a top flight football team, and also where a lot of scenes from my favourite sitcom Only Fools and Horses were filmed once it had become too popular to be shot in London. It was exciting to be able to tick off another metropolis.
Unfortunately, we had not planned for our visit to Bristol beyond buying the train tickets, and so on arrival we had no idea where we going or what we were going to do. We walked away from the enormous Temple Meads station and, as it turned out, went the wrong way and ended up in a rough part of town.
Temple Meads station in Bristol
Mum said she wanted a coffee, so I used my phone to find us a place with good reviews not far away. We discovered that this place, Bakehouse, was on an industrial estate. The coffee was ok, the food looked nice but went untried due to how expensive it was, and we found ourselves in the bizarre situation of sitting on a picnic bench amongst industrial units. Only two days before we had been enjoying the spectacular views on Barry Island.
We resolved to find the city centre, and eventually managed it. We went into a few shops and had a nice lunch in a café, but we never saw any of Bristol’s great sights. We didn’t see the SS Great Britain, we didn’t see the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and I didn’t tick off any more sporting venues such as Ashton Gate, the Memorial Stadium or the County Ground. We went to catch the train feeling like we hadn’t really ‘done’ Bristol, and I feel like I need to return at some point.
Day 4 – Thursday 20th July
There was a train strike on Thursday, so we spent the day off the rails, as it were. We walked to Caldicot Castle, not far from our apartment, and were very pleasantly surprised by the experience. It was free to get in, which was unexpected, and there are so many little nooks and crannies of this historic site to explore. A Grade I listed building, most of what we can see today was built somewhere around 1170 and restored in that confident Victorian way by a man called Joseph Richard Cobb, who made it his family home.
What really interested me was the fact that the castle was used to house families who had been bombed out during the Second World War. Down one very narrow corridor was a bath that would have been used by people living there in the 1940s.
Extensive helical staircases would take us down to the basement, where a grate allowed us to peer into the darkness of the dungeons, and up to the top of the tower, where we enjoyed wonderful views over the Severn Estuary – very much a photo opportunity.
The view from the top of Caldicot Castle, with the Severn Bridge in the background
We enjoyed a snack and a drink from the castle’s tea room before we left. A truly wonderful place, a fantastic thing for the locals to have on their doorstep. The field next to the castle is used for concerts – Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds are performing there in August.
Day 5 – Friday 21st July
Our last full day in Wales. We had heard about a place called Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes, which was only about ten minutes away from the apartment by car, so we went there to take a look.
Honestly, if you are ever out that way you must go to Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes. The gardens at ground level are beautiful and incredibly well-maintained, with so many trees, plants and ponds to sit by and enjoy some peace and quiet. But it is when you go underground, into the network of tunnels that go through the stone, that your mind is truly blown. These grottoes are amazing spaces – they really are like stepping into another world.
Even better, when I was enjoying a delicious sausage roll and slice of chocolate cake from the café, little birds like to sit on the tables and eat the crumbs that people have left behind. Look at this chap.
We didn’t really have a plan for what to do after we’d left Dewstow, and in an unexpected turn of events we ended up crossing back into England and stopping at Severn View Services. As the name suggests, this is where a short walk will give you the best possible view of the Severn Bridge.
Increasingly weary, next we found ourselves back in Chepstow, but with very little energy left in the tank we didn’t do anything other than visit a Wetherspoons for a meal. I had a pizza (and no, I’m not getting any thinner).
We were knackered, but content. We’d seen so many new places and done so much walking that we knew our holiday in Wales was one we would never forget.
Day 6 – Saturday 22nd July
Time to go home. With the forecast suggesting that a month’s worth of rain in one day would leave Wales looking something like Atlantis before long, we left as early as we could. I put my head down for a nap just after we’d crossed the bridge back into England, and when I woke up we were driving around the suburbs of Reading, which was a surprise as no part of our journey home should have involved the suburbs of Reading.
Apparently, they had said on the radio that there was traffic on the M25 at Slough. This was exactly the part of the M25 we needed to go on, so Dave had made the decision to try to avoid the M25. Well, to say this meant we went home the long way round is an understatement. We must be the only people ever to travel between Wales and Norfolk and stop for a wee at the Tesco in Amersham, Buckinghamshire. After we’d been there I swapped with mum and sat in the front seat to help guide us in the right direction. We took in Chesham, Hemel Hempstead and St Albans but eventually made it to the A14 near Cambridge and back to dear old Dereham.
If you’ve made it down this far, thank you very much for reading. Hopefully I’ve inspired you to go exploring. Whatever you do, make sure you visit Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes!
It was the first time I’d been out that way, and it was a nice change from heading to the Yorkshire/Derbyshire area, which I had been doing most summers since I was a child – including last year.
I kept a diary of the six day trip, so here’s what we (my mum, step-dad and I) got up to:
Day 1 – Sunday 16th July
Departure day. It wasn’t just us going on holiday – our budgie, Messy, was spending the week at Dave’s brother’s house, and he’d been taken there on the Saturday night. We had said we wanted to be on the road by 8am, so of course we left shortly after 9am.
I had taken a travel sickness tablet, and tried to get some sleep on the journey. I put my head down somewhere near Thetford and when I woke up we were just to the south of Birmingham! We stopped for a break at Hopwood Park Services and then completed a pretty smooth journey by crossing the Prince of Wales Bridge into Wales.
Crossing the Prince of Wales Bridge into Wales
We were staying in an Airbnb in Caldicot, a small town near Chepstow. This was the first time we’d used Airbnb and first impressions were good. Our accommodation was a self-contained apartment attached to the owners’ house.
That evening we walked to find the railway station and explore the town.
Day 2 – Monday 17th July
With the weather forecast good for our first full day in Wales, we decided to go to Cardiff on the train. But once we’d arrived at Cardiff Central Station, we decided to carry on to the coast at Barry Island. This was, of course, where a lot of the sitcom Gavin and Stacey was filmed, as well as a few scenes from my favourite film Submarine.
I have to say I wasn’t expecting Barry Island to be quite so beautiful. The beach is huge, and with the sun shining the water sparkled and you could see Weston-Super-Mare on the other side. We stopped at a café on the sea front before walking to the end of Friars Point, where the heavens opened and we got soaked.
Enjoying my summer holiday
Making our way back, we had lunch at a fish and chip shop next door to Marco’s Cafe, the real life place that Stacey works at in Gavin and Stacey. It’s clear that Barry Island is very proud of its association with the hugely successful BBC show – there are murals celebrating the fact all over the place, and the shops are not short of mugs emblazoned with Nessa’s catchphrase ‘oh, what’s occurring?’ or t-shirts with ‘sugar tits’ printed on them, the ‘affectionate’ nickname Dave Coaches used for Nessa.
A game of adventure golf and a drink sitting outside a pub followed before we headed to the station, but the day wasn’t over. I like ticking off any sporting arenas I see on my travels, and Cardiff has several. Not far from Cardiff Central I was able to see the Principality (formerly Millennium) Stadium, the home of the Welsh rugby union team, although we couldn’t get too close to it due to some work being done. I did take this photo though.
The cricket ground, named Sophia Gardens after the park that is close to it, is a bit of a walk from the Principality but we made the effort and were rewarded when we were told by a steward that we were welcome to go in and watch the end of a women’s match that was going on.
I can now add Sophia Gardens to the list of cricket grounds I’ve seen a match at: Lord’s, Trent Bridge, Headingley, Old Trafford and Edgbaston.
When the match was over, we were on our way back to the station when we realised that the next train back to Caldicot wasn’t until 7.50pm! So we had dinner at a Wetherspoons around the corner to kill the time. We were pleased we did, as it was in a fascinating old building – a theatre that was the venue for the first performance of the Welsh National Opera.
Reaching our apartment just before 9pm, we were all shattered. Our first full day would turn out to be our longest!
Day 2 – Tuesday 18th July
After the events of Monday, a quieter day was mooted for Tuesday. We walked into the town to see the market, which turned out to be about four stalls. The most noteworthy event that morning was a man tripping on a raised bit of paving and going down in instalments, hitting the ground chin first. Dave, a trained first aider, rushed to help. The response was actually quite heart warming – a chair was brought over from a nearby restaurant, a first aid kit was procured from a betting shop, and an off-duty nurse took over. As we were leaving, the police (or ‘heddlu’ as they are known in the utterly impenetrable Welsh language) were just arriving to see what was going on.
We got in the car and went to Chepstow, which is only 5 miles or so away. The only thing I really knew about Chepstow before arriving was that they did horse racing there, but it’s actually a really interesting town with plenty of history. Here’s a photo of Chepstow Bridge, where you can actually walk between Wales and England.
Chepstow Bridge from the Welsh side
I’ll be writing about the rest of my trip to Wales in the next few days – I hope you’ll come back for part 2!
Those were the words of a 13-year-old Winston Churchill on a visit to Cromer back in 1888. Well, I’m pleased to report that I enjoyed my overnight stay in North Norfolk earlier this week a lot more than arguably the country’s most famous Prime Minister did.
Cromer is less than an hour from home but that was fine by me. I had decided to book a hotel there because, during my holiday from work, I was keen to make the most of it. To get away, to have a change of scenery and get my head together. Sea air has long been recommended as beneficial to the mind and the body.
I had long been intrigued by the Cliftonville Hotel in the town, too. It stands rather imposingly, just up the road from the centre, overlooking the sea. I’m fascinated by old buildings and the Edwardian hotel looked impressive from the outside. So I booked a night at the Cliftonville. Like I said, I enjoyed myself. It had the desired effect. And I learned.
To be fair to the young Winston Churchill, the Cromer he visited in 1888 would have looked very different to the one I was in this week. He wouldn’t even have had the pier to marvel at – Cromer Pier as we know it today wasn’t built for another 12 years. But it says a lot about the sense of humour we have in dear old Norfolk that his less than glowing opinion of the town is set into the promonade, right in front of the pier.
If you’ve not looked into the history of Cromer before, it’s a fascinating story. The name does not appear until 1262, which given how old a lot of places in Norfolk are is basically last week. There was a village called Shipden near here, about a quarter of a mile from where the end of Cromer Pier is now, that was claimed by the sea hundreds of years ago. With the recent goings on in Hemsby, it just goes to show that some things never change. In 1888, coincidentally the same year as Churchill’s visit, a pleasure steamer crashed into the Shipden church tower which by then was just about reaching sea level. The passengers on the steamer were all rescued and no lives were lost, but when attempts to move the ship failed the decision was taken simply to blow it up, along with the church tower to ensure an incident like this wouldn’t happen again. About a hundred years later, a team of divers were able to find the wreck of the pleasure steamer as well as follow the streets of the old village along the seabed.
What we now call Cromer would once have been known as Shipden-juxta-Felbrigg, with the name Cromer in use by 1400. Right in the middle of the town is the substantial church of Saints Peter and Paul. There is evidence that at one point Cromer was a small place with a large but run-down church in the middle. Just as had happened in Mundesley – which I wrote about last week – the arrival of the railway to Cromer in the Victorian age helped it become a seaside resort. On my walks around the town while I was there, Cromer has a huge number of buildings that would have been built around this time. Take a look at this page from the Town Council for more on Cromer’s history.
As for my own trip, I arrived at the Cliftonville on Tuesday afternoon and was impressed from the moment I walked through the doors. It looked smart, it felt classy, and any fears I had that I was in for another London experience began to ease.
I was in room 42, on the third floor. There is a lift, but I loved the grand staircase so much that I never used it. The second floor is being refurbished – there were tiles leaning against walls in the corridor and the chatter of workers as you passed on the stairs – but you couldn’t hear any noise from my room. Room 42 was small, granted, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic. I had booked a single room, travelling alone as I was, and that meant a small room with a single bed. It’s a while since I’ve slept in a single bed. It was clear that this room, too, had been recently refurbished. Possibly within weeks. The room had a fairly strong smell of paint, probably from the work being done on the floor below. The room had been finished to a very high standard and was sympathetic to the architecture of the building. Thumbs up from me.
The hotel claims to have sea views from every room, and while mine was on the side rather than the front of the building, I got a stunning view of the pier and the town centre.
The morning view from my hotel room window
I headed out for a walk, to explore, and was on the pier when I saw the weather closing in. Soon, a mixture of rain and hail was coming down, as well as the odd rumble of thunder. I went back to the hotel to wait for it to pass. When it did, I went to the famous Mary Janes Fish & Chip Shop, but ended up eating my sausage and chips sitting in my car in the hotel car park as I didn’t want the room to stink of them and all the seats I could find outside were soaking wet.
I decided to have a bath, since the facilities seemed so inviting, and went to bed reading Felix White’s book It’s Always Summer Somewherefeeling restful and content, apart from the brief moment I forgot I wasn’t in a double bed and promptly fell off the side.
I woke up somewhere between 5am and 6am. Mum had told me to look out for the sunrise if it happened to be awake, so I looked out of the window and was greeted with this stunning sight.
The single glazed window had inevitably lost its battle with condensation, but a quick dry with a towel exposed that glorious view in all its glory.
Breakfast was included in the £69 I paid for the hotel and I went down just after 8am. I found I was the only one in the restaurant, at least until an older couple came in when I was nearly finished. I was asked if I wanted tea or coffee (coffee please) and had a selection of cereals and juices to help myself to, as well as a menu of hot food to select from. In the end I just had a bacon bap, which was let down only by the fact the bun was a brioche one. Even my table in the restaurant had a view of the sea.
Alone for breakfast
Then I decided to get my things together and check out of the hotel, heading back into Cromer, taking in the morning sea air. I went into a couple of shops, leaving one of them with a new hoodie, and then I bought a small pot of pineapple, a bottle of orange juice and a paper and sat near the sea wall. My time in Cromer had been so short, but like I said, I learned.
Here are a few things I learned:
I am alone, but that’s ok.
I am used to spending plenty of time alone. I do a lot of things with my mum, and that’s wonderful, but before I moved back in with her and her other half last year I lived as a lodger for eight years and spent lots of time by myself. I’ve never had a girlfriend, but that’s because I’m awkward and unappealing. I can probably count just the two friends that I would trust with my deepest secrets. It has to be partly my fault, I guess I can be overly intense and people tend to get bored of me after a while. But I often think I would love to be one of those people who has a phone that is constantly going off with messages. I’d love to be one of those people that wakes up to a good morning text. In Cromer, though, I absolutely felt the strength in being alone. I am often shy, hiding away even from buying things in a shop, but I overcame those fears on this trip and this has given me confidence that I can push on when I’m back in the real world.
You don’t have to go far from home to have a holiday
Cromer was my holiday, my trip away during my week off work. It might not have been the Caribbean or the Canary Islands, but it was far enough away for me to feel like I was somewhere different. And for £69 it didn’t break the bank either.
The smallest things can put a spring in your step
On my evening in Cromer, walking back to the hotel in the rain, I was waiting for a van to pass before I crossed the road. The window in the van was open, and loudly broadcasting from within was The View From The Afternoon by Arctic Monkeys. ‘Superb taste in music’ I thought to myself, and the rest of my journey was completed with a spring in my step.
And that was my trip to Cromer. All that remains is for me to urge you to go and stay at the excellent Cliftonville Hotel and to provide you with a photo dump. Thanks for reading.
I’ve got some much needed time off work this week and, not wanting to waste it sitting around at home (though the snow has rather forced my hand on that one for the last couple of days), on Wednesday mum and I decided to go and see the sea.
We ended up in Mundesley, a village I hadn’t been to that often and didn’t know that much about. I knew that a teacher I didn’t like at primary school lived in Mudesley, and I knew that Mundesley was the first place mum and dad took me for an outing after I was born. I don’t remember that, obviously, but I’ve been told about it. I’ve also been to Mundesley with my friend and her dog for a walk.
When we arrived, the village was very quiet indeed, as you might expect in winter with the wind blowing and the temperature hovering just above freezing. Mum and I went to the cafe nearest the car park, where we sat in the window watching a procession of dog walkers heading down and then re-emerging from the ramp that leads to the beach. I had a coffee and a bacon and sausage roll. I’ve become something of a connoiseur of various pig products presented between two slices of bread, as my expanding waistline will attest to – Mundesley’s, for the record, was acceptable. Not the best I’ve ever had, but not too bad.
After the cafe we went for a walk, taking in the Norfolk coast path and the various sights along the way. Mundesley is actually a very interesting village in an architechtual sense – there are a number of old buildings, quite grand in appearance, that I wish I could find out more about.
Look at this building, for instance. I’ve had to get this image from Google Maps as I didn’t take many when I was there (my hands were too cold to hold my phone) but I can tell you that it looks exactly like this now. Empty.
The architecture looks kind of art deco, I would say. It’s attractive, with its curves and big window. Yet it is underused, not being utilised to the extent that I’m sure the people who put it there invisaged.
The research I’ve done suggests that this building, somewhat surprisingly, isn’t listed and that it was once called Bar Victoriana. Judging by its Instagram account, Bar Victoriana marketed itself as a trendy cocktail bar and occasionally had live music. The bar’s website is now dead, but on Facebook it appears to have closed in July 2019, with the promise of a ‘new seafood & grill restauarant’ on the way, which would explain the signs still on the outside. I can’t find anything about what happened afterwards, but I would suspect that the business may have been a victim of the pandemic.
The building as it was in September 2008
Mundesley has plenty of Victorian buildings, probably due to the arrival of the railway (long gone) in that period that turned the village into a holiday resort. Some of them are made out of local stone, given them an unusual appearance, while others are built from the red bricks you would expect of the Victorians.
There are two imposing former hotels in Mundesley that demonstrate its past glory as a Victorian seaside resort. The photo below shows The Grand Hotel, as it was originally known, in around 1960:
From what I’ve been able to find out, the hotel was renamed the Hotel Continental at some point after the Second World War. G. Laird, who took the more recent photo below, remembers three summer holidays in Norfolk during the 1960s and said the Hotel Continental ‘was then a very elegant building and was clearly a popular hotel’.
It would seem the hotel later became apartments.
Old hotels fascinate me – especially abandoned ones. You see, history isn’t about being nerdy and reeling off dates all the time. My interest in history comes from mentally taking a trip into the past and thinking about what the buildings and the places I can see used to do, and of the scores of people that would have used them in a former life. Think about all of the Victorians who would have come to that hotel for their bucket-and-spade holiday. How excited they must have been to be out of the city for a few days. Imagine them, dining in the hotel with a view over the sea. What would they think of it now? A bit run down, a shadow of its former self. That’s what intrigues me about this kind of thing.
The other old hotel in Mundesley is the Manor Hotel. It was built in 1900, so slightly newer than the Hotel Continental, and was – as the name suggests – originally a manor house, converted into a hotel as the tourism industry took off. According to this newspaper article, the hotel ceased trading in December 2019 and a month later was up for sale (for what seemed like quite a reasonable £450,000). Of course, the pandemic was on its way shortly after, bringing with it a complete halt to tourism and leisure activities, so I don’t know what happened after that. The building stands empty, still showing evidence of the business that continued there until 3 years or so ago. Below is a photo I found online of the hotel in the month it closed:
Our walk also took in the impressive All Saints church, which stands alone and imposing on the cliff top. The church has Norman origins, but I learned that it stood virtually in ruins for about a hundred years until being sensitively restored (unusual for the time, I think) between 1899 and 1914 – this coincides with the railway and subsequent tourist trade coming to Mundesley, so they probably felt like they wanted to smarten the place up for all of its new visitors. The church is described in much finer detail than I can manage here.
The church of All Saints, Mundesley
On the wall of the church, we noticed a plaque dedicated to the residents of the London borough of Haringey who had died at Clarence House in Mundesley. We found The Clarence House later on in our walk, and it is a care home in what looks like it might have been another former hotel, but even looking online I can’t find anything about this perculiar dedication to people who came there from the capital. My theory is that some elderly residents of Haringey may have been moved out of bombed-out London to calmer, safer surroundings on the Norfolk coast, but I have no idea if I’m thinking along the right lines. If anyone reading this happens to know more, please do let me know.
Speaking of the war, there is a large amount of evidence of Second World War defences in Mundesley. As well as a few pillboxes, there is a gun emplacement, built in 1940 or 1941. There is a newspaper article here about the community’s efforts to have the gun emplacement protected by Historic England. The gun emplacements are a stark reminder of how worried Britain was during the war about the enemy invading by sea and its extensive efforts to protect the coastline. The guns themselves were removed by 1946, but under the structure remains what would have been an accomodation area complete with bed frames. The future of the gun emplacement is a concern, with the underground section apparently now full of water and coastal erosion bringing the whole thing ever close to the edge of the cliff. I’m not that into war history, but I’d recommend visiting the gun emplacement at Mundesley while you can.
The gun emplacement at Mundesley, pictured in 2016
Part of our walk also took in Sea View Road, an untarmacked street separate from the main road. We found the number of seemingly empty but reasonably well-kept properties along this road odd, eventually concluding that this is probably an area of second homes – rich people, coming from outside Norfolk, who own properties on the coast that they only live in for some parts of the year. It’s a growing point of contention around here, and is already a massive problem in places like Cornwall.
Our walk also took in this old brick kiln, right in the middle of what is now a caravan park and one of Mundesley’s listed buildings, and some evidence of coastal erosion:
With a little help from a bus, we were back where we started and some (very good) chips for lunch brought a lovely little trip to the seaside to an end. I left knowing more about this small village of the North Norfolk coast, and reminded that everywhere has a story to tell if you look hard enough. I urge you to go out there and explore!
Sitting outside a cafe in Whitehall, with one of London’s finest Wasteaters in the background
I’ve been finding things a bit tough recently, so a week off work was very welcome. Unfortunately, on only the second full day of my holiday, I woke up with a horrendous sore throat and spent the rest of the week somewhat under the weather, even spending one day in bed.
Still, I was not to be defeated and after a bit of a walk at North Elmham and lunch in the grounds of Wymondham Abbey with an old friend from university on Wednesday, it was off to London on Thursday morning. I had bought my mum and her other half Dave (Stephen to me) a gift voucher for Christmas, enabling them to go to a show of their choice at one of the capital’s theatres. They, in turn, bought their friends one and planned to go to Jersey Boys together. I have loved going to London ever since a school trip to the Natural History Museum in 2006, and am reasonably good at finding my way around the city, so I tagged along as their guide.
We caught our train on time from Norwich and it sailed into Liverpool Street without delay – so far, so good. It was then onto the Tube, headed for Victoria. Our hotel for the night was within walking distance. There are many hotels in London that look like The Grapevine from the outside. It’s common for an old townhouse to have been turned into a hotel. I’d even stayed in one on a visit last year, the Berjaya Eden Park overlooking Bayswater Tube station, and that was fine.
The Grapevine was not fine. A sign on the front door told us to check in at The Sheriff next door, and we received the keys there. Not only the keys to our rooms but to the hotel itself. Despite check-in time being 2pm and it being just past then, I was told that my room (ominously, in the basement) was still being cleaned.
To be fair to them, it was ready within about five minutes and, while the others went to their respective rooms, I descended to the basement. I was to be in room 19A!
Come on in, sleepy head, a comfy bed lies just behind this, er, cupboard door!
Ah. Had the door not had ’19A’ on it, I would have assumed it was a storage cupboard of some sort, and I don’t think that’s an unreasonable leap to make. My hopes were not high as I passed through the door. There was a kind of air lock between it and another door, which thankfully the key I had been given did unlock.
Room 19A at the Grapevine Hotel
I have never walked into a hotel room and burst out laughing before, but that was exactly my reaction to room 19A at the Grapevine. It was so hilariously bad, so miserable, so dirty, that laughter was all my brain would offer me. Being in the basement, I had feared that would mean no windows, but my eyes were drawn to light coming from behind a pair of curtains. The curtains were drawn, but hanging on to the rail for dear life. Some daylight would improve the situation I thought. I pulled the curtains and immediately discovered why they had been closed.
The stunning views from my original hotel room window
I wasn’t expecting to see Sydney Opera House, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or even the sea – but my laughter became almost uncontrollable upon seeing the view from my window. I quickly shut the curtains again, deciding that darkness was preferable. My phone received a text.
“Omg it’s appalling” were the words my mother had sent me. Any thought I might have had that it was only in the basement that the Grapevine became more Nits than Ritz was dispelled in an instant. Most people on arriving at a hotel would settle in, maybe have a shower, relax – it turned out that all we wanted to do was leave again as soon as possible, and sure enough as I went back outside mum and Dave’s friends were already on the pavement.
We did that very British thing where we tentatively enquired about each other’s thoughts on the place, just in case one of us was a big fan of having curtains hanging off the walls. Once we’d established that we all thought the place was indeed an almighty shithole, we discussed how we would deal with the topic around my mum, who had booked this hotel in the first place. We adopted a policy of not playing a blame game, instead laughing about the whole situation and saying that it would be fine for just one night.
As we walked towards Buckingham Palace past Victoria Station, I spotted a Greene King pub. I know it’s a bit rubbish to go for a chain when you’re in one of the world’s great cities for food, but after the introduction to the hotel, I was keen to stick with the tried and trusted. Thankfully, the food was tasty and we walked toward the theatre in good spirits.
It still doesn’t feel real that the Queen has died, and this was the first time I’d been to anything royalty related since. My mum had never been this close to the Palace before. We couldn’t walk up the Mall as it was closed in preparation for that Sunday’s London Marathon, so we had to take a diversion that did eventually get us to the familiar sight of Nelson’s Column. The journey took in Pall Mall, a street famous for the many clubs and societies based on it. Men in suits came out of the Royal Automobile Club and the Army and Navy Club, often into sports cars parked outside.
We arrived at the Trafalgar Theatre. It was going well for me. I might have been on the trip as the guide but I am well known for getting myself lost (missing my turn off the M11 to Harlow and ending up in Walthamstow being my most famous misadventure) so to have got everyone safely to the hotel and then to the theatre was a big success. We had coffee and cake sitting outside an impossibly posh-looking cafe opposite – people walked past in bow ties as I sat there in my joggers and wearing an England Cricket jacket.
I wasn’t going to the show myself, partly because I have no interest in musicals. So, having left them at the theatre, I had about three hours to kill in London. I love the place, I have a fairly good knowledge of how to get around it, but I had never really been out in it at night before so decided to stick to well-populated and well-lit areas. I walked about seven miles in the end, taking in Trafalgar Square, Covent Garden, the West End, the Savoy, the South Bank, Waterloo Bridge, Chinatown and Piccadilly Circus. Here are the photos I took:
I had a great time. As an introvert, one thing I love about London is how I can wander through it anonymously. There are so many people there, all doing their own thing, that no one notices you. I could go anywhere and no one would pay any attention to me. The only trouble was, I felt distinctly rough.
I met the rest outside the theatre around 10pm, was told I looked “crap”, and our plans to go for a drink were abandoned. We made our way back to our lovely hotel in a black cab, no less – the first time I have ever been in a proper Hackney Carriage.
From talking to the others, it appeared that, remarkably, I had actually got the best hotel room. I had a reasonable-sized bathroom, while they were struggling to put into words how small theirs was. I agreed to swap rooms with mum and Dave’s friends, so they could benefit from the extra space. I was upgraded to the ground floor and to room number 1. Was I moving up in the world?
No. I now had a view out onto the street, at least, which was much nicer than the tip I had overlooked down in the basement. But inside, the room was just as filthy and ramshackle. The size of the toilet and shower needs to be seen to be believed, so here’s a picture:
My mum demonstrates the size of the toilet in the Grapevine Hotel
It’s quite obvious that the wardrobes in these rooms had been converted into toilets and showers, allowing the owners to market the hotel as having en suite rooms. I have never seen a toilet so small. My mum could have brushed her teeth whilst sitting on the throne, and we blokes had to stand at an angle to have a wee. That uncontrollable laughter from earlier in the day returned with a vengeance at my first sight of the loo-in-a-cupboard. It was quite a step down back into the room from the toilet, but I had nothing to worry about because if I tripped I would have landed safely on the bed.
Here are some more photos of this marvellous accommodation:
One saving grace was that the bed was clean, and I managed about four hours of sleep, about three more than some of the others. We’d left the Grapevine by 8.30 on Friday morning, having handed in the keys and told the guy on reception what a dump it was.
Our train home wasn’t until 3.30pm, so we had a nice stroll around London, past many of the places I had seen the night before.
We got to Liverpool Street without getting lost. The train home was on time, my job was complete, and none of us would ever forget our 26 hours in London. Or the Grapevine Hotel.
My view of England v South Africa, Old Trafford, Manchester, 22nd July 2022
I’ve been back from my holiday for a week now, but as these things often do, it feels like a lot longer!
I usually go away around my mum’s birthday (19th July) and this year was no different. In 2021, we stayed in Salford to make it easy to get to Old Trafford for a T20 cricket match between England and Pakistan. On this occasion, we actually stayed in a hotel right in the middle of Manchester.
The Portland Hotel, Manchester
My room was on the third floor of the hotel, with mum and her other half Dave a couple of doors down. It was clean and comfortable with a Queen size bed. You could hear the trams rumbling through the city centre, but rather than being irritating it was actually quite a pleasant sound.
On our first night, we walked across the road into Piccadilly Gardens and found a fan park dedicated to the Women’s Euro 2022. There you could buy merchandise, eat and drink, and watch the matches on a big screen. I had been enjoying the tournament and England had North Walsham’s Lauren Hemp in their squad, so it was fun following the progress of the Norfolk girl. Our first night in Manchester happened to be the night of England’s quarter final against Spain, so we sat in the fan park with hundreds of others and cheered the Lionesses on.
The fan park in Manchester’s Piccadilly Gardens
England went behind – conceding a goal for the first time in the tournament – but battled back to win 2-1 in extra time. The atmosphere was fantastic and it really made you feel part of the event.
The moment the final whistle went in the fan park
The next day, we had booked to go to the National Football Museum. I’d been to the museum a couple of times before, but there is so much to see that there’s no chance you’ll ever see it all. We spent two-and-a-half hours browsing the exhibits, which include the original written laws of the game, the ball used in the 1966 World Cup final and a seat from the original Wembley stadium. Afterwards, we did a bit of shopping. I used to hate buying clothes but these days I actually quite enjoy it.
The National Football Museum
Friday was the day of the One Day International between England and South Africa – the reason for our trip up north. Now, cricket is obviously the best sport in the world but, famously, it is at the mercy of the weather. You can’t play cricket in the rain. Not because the players are wimps, but because water and a cork ball wrapped in leather don’t mix. Opening the curtains, I was met with typical Manchester weather – grey skies, damp pavements and drizzly rain.
Undeterred, we were at the ground when the gates opened at 11am. We were well aware that the game wasn’t going to start at the scheduled time of 1pm. We went to the club shop, we had a drink, and then a chance encounter meant my mum got a photo with England’s star batter Jonny Bairstow!
Mum and Jonny Bairstow
At one point we thought the match would be abandoned without a ball being bowled, but the weather did eventually relent for long enough for us to get a game on. Play finally began at 4.45pm, reduced to 29 overs per side from the 50 it was supposed to be. England were sent into bat and I didn’t think they played that well, being bowled out for 201 towards the end. It turned out to be more than enough, however, as South Africa were bowled out for just 83 to give England a win by 118 runs.
We (literally) squeezed onto a tram to make the 15 minute journey back to our hotel, pleased that we’d seen a match despite the rain and that England had won.
On Saturday afternoon, after a leisurely breakfast we travelled back to Norfolk in the car. On Sunday, it was back to work…
LEE PAYNE 