Great Yarmouth is great
[nowt about steelpans in this blog, feel free to skip it]
Three gigs in three days. That's a lot of old oil-drums to heave about in a short space of time. Before I go on the Suzuki summer school in Ipswich, maybe a little sojourn by the sea?
And so on Tuesday afternoon I find myself winding my way, train-wise, through Peterborough and Norwich and onto Great Yarmouth, which I have always associated with one of my favourite authors, Dickens. And of which I have high hopes.
On the first arrival the station seems bleak enough, and the station, set on the river is reminiscent of Newport. I wonder if this is a good idea.
It is. I'm Staying on seafront, hang around town doing nothing in the evening, only find Peggoty's Tavern as any homage to the great author, foolishly attempt an Indian meal (not wise if your normal point of reference is Leeds and Bradford).
From the seafront there's fine views of the wind turbine plantation. I take a lot of pictures. Now I am in favour of renewable energy (understatement), but, if I wasn't, I would not try the blot on the landscape argument. Majestic, ethereal, haunting, loving the windmills/turbines.
Next morning, walk along the massive, empty beach, paddle in gently breaking waves, pack stuff, and then it's back to the station, which is now a familiar and atmospheric little shed.
En route next for the cellofest . . . .