3. Sandringham

CC site

4^th - 8^th March

Arrived here at lunchtime on a cold but clear and sunny day. In a pine wood within the estate; quite a relief to see trees after my drive across the Fens where there were no trees or hedges, just muddy fields with black soil and ruler-straight waterways. Just outside Peterborough on the way to Whittlesey (“ancient market town”) a vast McCain factory. Imagine how many spuds go in there every day and have their lives totally changed. Then, just outside King's Lynn, an equally huge sugar beet factory, surrounded by mountains of beet.

So, here I am in the Queen's back garden. I popped over to see if she wanted any shopping done or the corgis taken for a walk, but she wasn't in. The flunkey said she had gone to the chiropodist in King's Lynn. Hope she knows the last bus back is 5:15.

Well, so far so good, very happy with the site. Bus stop just outside the front gate, with hourly buses to King's Lynn and Hunstanton. (Must find out if it really is pronounced “Hunston”).

Now, here's a thing. I've noticed that both my pairs of Irish trousers make it difficult to take a leak. You have to undo the belt and the top button before unzipping, and I don't like semi-undressing in public toilets. Could it be that Irish men have their tackle situated further north, nearer the navel, than the rest of us? Discuss.

The bus into King's Lynn goes via Castle Rising, a real chocolate-box village with a splendid castle. Cherry trees coming into bloom everywhere.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Mixed feelings about the town. The old parts, King Street, the Tuesday Market Square and the Minster and the Saturday Market Square and the waterfront are lovely, but there is a truly scabrous new area (“The Vancouver Precinct) with every manky pound-type-shop, cash converter, nail bar and tattoo parlour imaginable and there are hoards of very damaged-looking people swarming around forcing food in their faces. This is definitely bull-terrier rather than West Highland White land.

 

                                                                            Castle Rising

 

The Great Ouse is just a broad, muddy, dead-straight treeless ditch as it makes it way to the Wash past the town. It has had its course changed many times and has been cleared and moved and dredged so many times it's more a man-made waterway than a river. It does a great job, though, keeping the land flood-free. Environment Agency, please note.

Why is it, by the way, that so many really fat girls insist on wearing lycra tights? They make a really soul-shuddering sight, especially when the shiny elephant legs are supplemented by orange faces and dyed-black hair. There are so many of them they must be trying to emulate a “look” or a celebrity's looks. Who could possibly want to look like this, a cross between an oompa loompa, a Bulgarian shot-putter and a female wrestler ? I remember when Nick Hallett and I talked about what we were going to do when we got really fat; we decided we would wear baggy voluminous robes, maybe kaftans like Demis Roussos. I'm sure these girls would be better to follow our lead.

 

 

                                                        Cottages in Castle Rising

 

 

Watched an old codger near me on the site driving his caravan with a caravan mover and a remote. This sight always fascinates me. I wish I could have invented the caravan mover. I would now have a satisfied mind. (For those of you who aren't caravanners, a caravan mover is an electric motor which sits on one of the caravan's wheels and can be used, in conjunction with a remote controller, to manoeuvre the caravan so you don't have to reverse it into its space or reverse your car on to its hitch in order to connect up and tow it away). It's an eerie sight the first time you see one used.

Just west of King's Lynn is the village of Clenchwarton, which is one of the 10 best entries in “The Meaning of Liff” written 30 years ago by my two favourite geniuses, Douglas Adams and John Lloyd:

“CLENCHWARTON (n. archaic)
One who assists an exorcist by squeezing whichever part of the possessed the exorcist deems useful.”

Must make sure I go past it when I leave Norfolk for Lincolnshire so I can photograph the road sign.

 

Nice Norfolk wall

Went into Hunstanton on Thursday, or at least I think I did, because there's so little there I wasn't sure I had arrived. Seriously, for “Hunstanton on a freezing day in March” read “Small English seaside town on a freezing day in March”. The bus trip, though, was lovely, through Dersingham, Snettisham and Heacham. The old buildings in this area are very handsome (and they are still building in this style), honey-coloured sandstone small rubble with red-brick facings, largely white window frames and Spanish-style red pantiles. One ordinary old barn was build in this way, with stepped Dutch gables at each end. Phenomenal! The trouble they took to make a barn pleasing to the eye!

In one of the many charity shops I found a fascinating book, “In search of Alan Gilzean”. Wonderful touch player, looked like an old minicab driver. I can still see him delicately flicking on headers to Jimmy Greaves to finish off. Tottenham late 'Sixties and early 'Seventies. The Beautiful Game. They used to sing “Gilzean, Gilzean, Gilzean, Gilzean, Born is the King of White Hart Lane” to the tune of “The First Noel”. Does it get any more sublime? He was the leading scorer for Dundee when they won the Scottish League in 1961-62 (in the days when it was worth winning) and when they reached the semi-final of the European Cup the following season. Together with Gilzean, Dundee provided Ian Ure to Manchester United and Arsenal and Charlie Cooke to Chelsea. Where are all the great Scottish footballers of the past, faded like the flowers of the forest.? Thank God, we'd never hear the end of it.

On the way to Hunstanton I saw some golfers. In the distance, with their trollies trailing behind them, they looked like early-model robots, you know, the ones with a sort of outrigger. I'm sure they're the ones who have been making the holes all over the site, not the rabbits at all.

Today (Friday) I'm going to take some exercise. I haven't been walking or cycling enough and the burden of guilt is unbearable. Trouble is, it's pouring with rain.

I forgot; in King's Lynn I saw that Clark's desert boots cost £85 now. My God! They must have appreciated out of step with the rest of inflation, because I always used to wear them when I was a young blood and I never had any money. Parka, denim Levi's, red socks and Clark's desert boots. I was very confused, because I used to dress like a Mod and ride a big motor-bike. I used to get beaten-up by everybody. Still do!

On the move to-day. New site beckoning, fine spring weather forecast, rugby on the TV this weekend. Ain't life grand?