Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Plastic ladyland

The other day I noticed several bottles festooning the A10 shrubbage. Deliberately hung on closer inspection. I did notice a rogue CD and suspect some of the witches knickers plastic bags may also have been placed, not blown there.  What dark and dastardly deeds do they hint at?

Work will be taking me as far as Littleport so expect more sightings. And perhaps a few raids on the boatyards and marinas for  a zed or two.

Tuesday, 28 November 2017

Friday night and the....

Friday night and  the.feelingis right" "Ok Wigfield. That was a banger. But releasing the same tune re badged as "Saturday night and the feeling is right" used up all your ditzy appeal.

So, Friday night having it large in the Hanseatic port of King's Lynn on the Great Ouse. Or for most of the day and night the Great Ooze. Many, many straight, featureless miles upstream before it becomes big perch water.

I've always wanted a crack at Palm Paper with one of those magical sunsets but access is tricky. Friday's sky wasn't that spectacular but I snuck down and had a go. That's the A47 spanning the Great Ouse which runs from Birmingham to Yarmouth and lots of that is single carriageway. Norfolk is like the Hotel California, you can check out but you can never leave.  Second only to the now divided Yorkshire in terms of land mass but not quite as bumpy as Ooop North. We hit the dizzy heights of 103 feet above sea level so eeh by gum you need oxygen up Beacon Hill. Most of Two Terriers  country which this is, is probably almost below sea level so a stand of maize assumes forest proportions relatively speaking.

Back to the sumptuous Hovelodge to begun the gentle pre-load with a bottle of Abbott and Come Dine with Me on the box

Into town on the part lash ( I am old and with work colleagues so  needed to rein it in a bit). This sobered me up before I even started so I needed some more neck oil to pull myself together. Shameful. End of. No time for bigots. Feck that "of it's time" mularkey.

Now this chap is  playing mere lip service to that extendable feast for commerce when they palm off all the shite they can't shift on the great unwashed.

Fullers Quay all lit up like  Christmas Tree

Nice coffee (Grey Seal) at Glandford on Saturday moning in the way home. And their artisan container office..

The Glandford roasted coffe was served in the Art Cafe, whch is a mine of comedy gold, from the anally repressed clientelle to the hapless trust fund teenager staff. I wish someone would change Word to English UK setting and proof the copy. Flavor my arse.

Sunday, 26 November 2017

Tarka Dahl

Had a good pass out today so headed up to the middle beat. More water above the mill but clear and still some weed waiting for a good flush through. I fished hard for me, recasting, twitching back and leapfrogging  quite a stretch but not one show of interest.  Only consolation of  a blank is no smelly wet net, mat and sling..  

To be honest, I felt a bit hemmed in by the large herd of cattle, with several stand-offs. They circled several times and I was eyeball to eyeball a couple of times.  

I came across Tarka's left overs; the remains of this big perch were as deep as the face of the scales, and the forceps were long pike forceps.

Un filtered sunburst. 

Cue Louis Theroux Scientology stylee video stand off with  these friendly brothers of the angle.

Tuesday, 21 November 2017

My failing eyes...

I went for a quick smash and grab on the river, couldn't see the quiver tip in the gloom with my useless eyes. The ancient cheese paste is stinky though. One tiny dace smaller than the worm it took. Can you get a  1gig betalight?  Treated to the kingfishers though.

Bit more light on Sunday. Who doesn't like  a beech wood in autumn? Blickling is a beautiful place. Might have to have a couple of quick pike sorties.

Finished off on the hard at Blakeney. I  think hard is just an Essex/Suffolk word for the hard foreshore on an estuarine harbour. Don't hear it round here. Juno is back in for her winter haul out. Handhelds from the Bureboy Charabanc window. Then we went to see the "Norman Lights". Little 'un speak for the Holt Christmas Lights. Do try and see them. Oh, they both saw and now spout on about sun dogs too.

Might just give the cheespaste an quick outing on the Wensum if I can fit a starlite. Trouble is, I'll stink of cheese paste and the Commander in Chief might suss out I have had a sneaky one.

Saturday, 18 November 2017

Pass the port

Asking someone to pass the port is pretty ghastly apparently. But then I'd have thought throwing bread rolls and goosing the waitress/waiter pretty low life. But I don't wear a cummerbund and am an oik.

So, please pass the port and Stilton so I can have a good crack at this.  I've lost the cover somewhere and it has probably gone past slightly foxed but it is a damn sight older than me.

Think this one will require a malt or two.

Friday, 17 November 2017

Frosty reception

The Bureboy Charabanc was in for the annual MOT and held up by a shorting rear offside light cluster so it was not till this morning that I picked it up.  Missed the lovely sunrise but not the first frost we've had this winter. Phone shots with a sprinkle of Snapseed magic. Just helps lift out the shadows  and a touch of sharpening.

I think this one is air cooled. It's a fixer-upper anyway.

Not lung searingly cold but crisp enough

And I've done 30k in a year. Mostly up and down the A148.

Tuesday, 14 November 2017

Wild and wandering in Wells next the Sea

Weekend away in Wells next the Sea in a stonking great big house for very little money. 9 rooms sleeping 14 for about £300. Perfect.

Wells has a most delightful Library

It also has a working harbour, several boats in with  a variety of port of registration prefixes. Blucher is local as from Kings Lynn. And is not a large battleship of the Admiral Hipper class.. General von Blucher did rather well at Waterloo in cahoots with Wellington. He also a characteristic one cut vamp shoe  named after him after a boot he helped design for his damp footed soldiers. Think DM shoe as favoured by Tony Benn. A bit more stylish than an old welly boot anyway. Sorry Wellington, #justsaying.

This must be the fisherman's version of the Non-League Football paper. Niche.

No crabbing  (or gillies  specifically in Wells) today, no water and cold to boot. A long way down into the gloop for an over eager little'un. And a fierce tide too.

And yes, turned up Dickies are quite the thing in London Town so say the Metropolitan Elite.

Looking down on the port from the gantry of the old Granary must be quite pleasant, I think it is a games room now. 

I am sure they see many stop here. Makes  a change from the Yarco hot dog. And I bet well polished in parts.

Park life.

Who doesn't love a swing?

Or think they can shoot a hoop? (They can't)

Now this must be one of the bleakest, coldest places to play football bar none. The wind is evil from the right quarter, all the way from the Steppes with nothing but a few beach huts and pines on the Holkham Estate to stop it. Even with the poshest ad hoarding ever. Holkham has a massive land footprint, made possible in no small part by the advent of the railway allowing  produce to reach the well heeled in London and later the Victorian tourist trade which grew the seaside towns. Not that Wells next the Sea is next the sea anymore.  Holkham Hall is a truly Palladian pile. One time home to Turnip Townsend,  he of crop rotation fame continued by the Cokes. The previously dubbed Viscount Coke is the Earl of Leicester these days.

Though the sea is  a good next the sea mile away now  it can come in very high at times. High enough to dump trawlers on the quayside. It is well defended now but god fear the day it reaches the top of that recorder.

Everyone has heard of French's.

And the Pop Inn amusements. Hideous things amusement arcades. I hate them.

Golddigga indeed. The boxes are too big to fall down the chute by the way......

Up in town the Howell dynasty is following the PadStein model of land grab.

He is a baker too but not  a candlestick maker.

And if it ain't Nobby's it ain't worth a... (Cue Stiff Records innuendo).

For the hoity toity, not the hoi poloi.

Given we had got the place for a song we felt we should get the caterers in.

Food, wine, what more do you need?

Crew dem

A post-prandial kick about it seems.

And for me a sozzled foray for some hand helds in the Buttlands. Steady on boi.

The Buttlands used to be an archery range. It is a large beech lined green surrounded by a quad of rather well to do Georgian town houses. Shot hand held at 800 ISO with fill-in. I am afraid I was on P so shutter/aperture anyone's guess.  Meh.

Back down through town.

Sunday dawned bright but not for the rain and hail  foreshortened a planned hike to the mile distant sea and a hasty retreat.  A corking weekend none the less.