Saturday 22nd February 2025

Should I really be contemplating a day trip to Norfolk just 24 hours after being laid so low?

I felt I recovered well on Friday, though not hungry still. After getting up and having a coffee, all was set.

I had to catch the ten to six train out of Dover, as I had a cheap ticket. I was going to have something from the buffet, or Pumpkin as its now called.

But was closed.

So, I sat on the station waiting for the train to pull in.

I got on and sat on my favourite side, the carriage was quiet, which suits me. Sadly, at Folkestone West, ten ladies got on and sat in the seats in front clearly on a weekend taking in the bright lights of London. They spent all the journey to Stafford talking about foundation cream and this season's colours.

But who am I to judge?

At Stratford I went up to the concourse then along to the DLY, hopping on a train that was about to depart for the stop to Stratford (Regional).

Where I found I had a fifty (50) minute wait, so went to the Middle Eastern kiosk on the underpass for lamb samosas and a coke.

The overnight rain had cleared, so I took my breakfast to the platform and found a dry seat under the footbridge and spent a fine half hour people and train watching.

As you do.

The train arrived at 08:37, it was three quarters full, but still plenty of seats.

So I took a seat on the right hand so I could watch the suburban stations flash by and then out into the Essex badlands.

No stopping at Chelmsford, onwards to the delights of Colchester and into Suffolk.

Train toilets can now be flushed in stations, so that joy is taken away. Not that I would have, anyway.

Unusually, both Ipswich and Norwich were playing at home on the same day at the same time, as were Colchester. Loads of fans got off at Ipswich, so the quarter full train continued to Stowmarket and Diss.

Then to Norwich.

Norwich is my old stamping ground, a city I know so well, apart from the usual suspects hard to enter churches, there wasn't a lot I could think off to fill in the two hours before opening time.

I looked at Simon's album of roof bosses from the Cathedral cloister, and decided I would photograph those. I didn't have a long enough lens, but what the hell.

Into Norfolk just before arriving in Diss, then through the rolling countryside peppered with sentinel-like church towers. Some close, some distant.

And then we were on the edge of the city, round to the single track bridge and into Thorpe Station, as was.

Back home.

If anywhere feels like home now.

I walked up the once vibrant Prince of Wales road, still with nightclubs and lap dancing bars, but most looking down at heel. The lights and paint not so bright, and the pub after which the road is named, is no more and is a gaming hub. Closed.

Through the Erpingham Gate into the precinct and to the modern entrance. I paid a tenner, and went straight to the cloisters, having declined a map.

I spent nearly an hour photographing and then talking to an American gentleman before a figure came to my shoulder.

It my my friend, Cam, and I was here to meet him and others for beers, chats and laughs.

We shook hands and chatted. I took a few more shots before we went back into the Nave and did one grand loop of the Sanctuary before leaving and getting his cycle.

A five minute walk down Wensum Street, over the bridge and onto Magdalen Street to the Kings Head, five past opening time.

I had a fine cherry-chocolate porter to start, and we met John and Stephen in the rear bar.

Hands shook, update on Simon's journey, and we got down to chit chat.

The pub was lively, with lots of scarf bedecked fans coming in for a pint or two before heading off to the home of football.

At some point, Simon arrived having had to get a rail replacement bus from Diss to Norwich, he was soon catching up.

We left for the Ribs at three, our number already down to the hardcore three, and Cameron left at four to meet with his family.

We took our beers to the decking just over the river surface, and leisured in the warm later afternoon breeze and low sun, it was warm.

Nearly.

I ended up having an argument with the two racist Brexit supports beside me, thankfully they left, leaving Simon and myself to empty our glasses and at five, walk down towards the station.

Norwich had won 4-2 against Stoke, while Ipswich lost 4-1 to local rivals Spurs.

At the Compleat Angler, it was full with happy fans. Simon got a round in, and I sat outside, though with dusk falling it was no longer warm.

We walk across the rad to the station, climbed on board the train waiting, quite full. But we found seats round a table, so spread out and chatted some more.

The train moved out, and into the blackness of the moonless night, illuminated only by the villages and stations on the line.

Simon got out at Norwich, the train continued south. I got a sandwich from the refreshment trolley.

The train entered Essex, speeding towards the capital.

At Stratford, back on the DLR to the International station where I had a twenty minute wait for my train, which when it arrived was busy, but with seats free.

So, just an hour down to Dover, where Jools was waiting for me to take me home for one last brew before going to bed.