What's Up

Despite the drop in the R rate we're not really going anywhere for a while are we? So I got me some reading in.

I'm a sucker for anything Essex, all those liminal spaces, 350 miles of coastline and everything from the  BATA factory, anarchist colonies to Crittalls Windows and all that's in between clichés. As Gillian Darley has it, England's most misunderstood county. I prefer her Excellent tag. I'll be counting the clichés with the Prodigal but a quick skim has me thinking she may have coined some more.

I'm not sure there's any Essex  by Rob Barnes in A Fine Line but there's plenty of the next best things from Suffolk and Norfolk and I am so taken with his unmistakeable style. So bright, bold and direct, and the prospect of an oystercatcher at any time. Which, like most of Essex is never a bad thing. Excellent indeed.

Catch Cult is one of those rare things these days, an angling magazine that's worthy of picking up. Along with Fallon's Angler, though there's probably not too much crossover readership. Both are about 20 editions in, and have yet to become stale, which I'm sure all involved in are pleased to hear, respected critic that I am...... everything is hard these days unless you are a Tory donor or a spouse of a a Tory getting minted with billions of pounds of public money so all hail these two  brave ventures.

Snow

 

Snowed yesterday. Little Un's loved it. Us Old Un's not quite so much.

Nearly all gone now.

Up close

The fecked wrist has meant carting a DSLR around on my limited ramblings is les than convenient so the basic camera phone is getting more of an outing, and it's probably better as a macro . 

This rose is in flower all year it seems out on the boundary of the vast sprawling Bureboy Estate. Not heavily fragranced and needs reining in a bit but lovely none the less. Which reminds me that I have a double row of wallflowers to plant out still, they are always heavily scented.

We've had a few frosts and a tiny sprinkling of snow over the last week or so and it feels colder in than out most days. 

Seven mile Boris

Well, Bozza's 14 mile round trip for a bike round Stratford Park on Sunday, passing many nearer open spaces, probably involving many cars and goons has set an acceptable local limit for many, and reinforced by Hat Mancock and then the Briefing tonight when it was said it was not practical to set an absolute definition of what local is. 

I was well within that for my Sunday stomp, probably ambling 6 or 7 miles in total along the Weavers Way laid on the old M&GN line towards Aylsham. Pleasant walking now its be resurfaced. I'm fascinated by part human, part animal old ways that traverse land and bisect other paths and roads. If my book case hadn't fallen down whilst I was being back slabbed in Minor Injuries I'd dig out MacFarlane's tome on the subject.

Sparrow hawk plucking zone. 

Being on a rail bed its mostly cuttings and embankments with views off to places you'd not normally see by car, or only momentarily. Bit busy what with all of us keeping localish and I must say I'm not sure about the Covid secure status of joggers and runners chuffing out plumes of breath and not thinking to slow or even stop and turn their heads as seems to the new normal for walkers. Or going into Costa to get a cup of mud for your walk with chum. 

 

Local

Despite all the confusion about what is and isn't local, in law or in spirit my horizons are limited about as far I can drag myself away from Bureboy Villas on foot as the Commander in Chief is hunkered down for the duration. For now anyway. So output might get bit samey as there is nothing that scenic or spectacular in this light industrial market town with zero architectural splendour or boujie artisanal outlets or quirky streets with crooked cottages.

A sunset is always worth a punt and I'm sure we'll get to see a few variations on this scene as it opens out just two minutes walk up the road. I'm not brave enough to suggest to the Commander in Chief that I leave her with Little Uns to seek out panoramic sunrises before breakfast, especially with the hell of home schooling visited on her and the Prodigal for the foreseeable future.

For those with a log pile fetish this boundary marker might get the pulse racing. I'm guessing at least part of it fell from a great height on the original fence, and the occupiers thought they'd open up their vista to take in the view across the fields and the sunset which has in part bathed the pile in an ethereal light.

Goodbye to all that

Seems those lovely dace from the end of last year will be the last  fish I catch for a while. Or anyone else will for that matter as we are all plunged into Tier 5. The scruffy old bugger managed to sneak in a snide schools are safe in his 5PM mumble fest today.   As Witty threw BoJo's underlings under the political decision for Ministers bus. 

Anyhoo, I  never did open that Japanese whisky tasting set so got a few pleasant evenings to look forward to. Just as well as I have 28 long days with an uncomfortable cast to go before the fracture clinic and what I hope will be good news.

Crocked

Out en famille on Sunday to Cart Gap. Cart Gap? Its a gap in the sea wall for carts. We don't stand on ceremony here in North Norfolk. Its a long stretch of concrete and rock armour Norwegian granite blocks with extensive marram dunes behind, and further on from past Sea Palling just the marram dunes which are all that stand between the cruel North Sea and untold hectares of Broadland.

Anyhoo, tide in so clambered on the rock armour to make the short hop over to the concrete wall and as I landed right knee went one way and the rest of me the other, stopped only by my left wrist and rather a lot of pain. I managed to get up, and I hadn't broken my glasses or camera so that was a bonus. I could even walk, after a fashion.  My left arm was suitably hidden from the  Little Un's eyes. The scene of my debacle. Well, just after anyway. And no, it wasn't me behind the lens. It was the eldest Little Un.

I did manage a couple of shots, to stave off the inevitable trip to Minor Injuries later. Bush Drive and all the other communities hunkered down behind, and often in those mirrams are an eclectic mix, thumbing their noses to planning and conformity.

Artisan salt marsh lamb? Not round here Buh, honest old sand blasted chuck eggs. If you bring an egg box anyway.

I nursed the charabanc home somehow  and as waves of pain built, my wrist became more deformed and my knee ballooned I gave up my plan to sleep on it and was taken with haste to the afore mentioned Minor Injuries Unit and within half an hour  or so was x-rayed and back-slabbed. I didn't mention the knee as I reasoned I'd walked 2 miles on it. Bad enough not being able to drive..

Post procedure pick-me up.

If you are fortunate enough to have a Minor Injuries Unit near you do all you can to lobby for it's retention.