Current work: fic and nonfic
Listening to: John Martyn (on the insistence of the senior member of my research crew - who takes the line that the driver chooses the music...)
Reading: various research stuff
We’re on British Summer Time now; so although we’re due a sharp frost and it was pretty cold yesterday, it’s officially spring.
Busy weekend; worked all day Saturday, and Sunday was a research trip over the border to Suffolk. Definitely spring, as there were lots of tiny lambs wobbling about in the fields and daffodils on the verges.
Southwold is famed for its beach huts; many of them have names as well as a number, and I was hugely amused by ‘Very Expensive Shed No 3’ – yup. These babies go for tens of thousands of pounds. Pretty, though.
Listening to: John Martyn (on the insistence of the senior member of my research crew - who takes the line that the driver chooses the music...)
Reading: various research stuff
We’re on British Summer Time now; so although we’re due a sharp frost and it was pretty cold yesterday, it’s officially spring.
Busy weekend; worked all day Saturday, and Sunday was a research trip over the border to Suffolk. Definitely spring, as there were lots of tiny lambs wobbling about in the fields and daffodils on the verges.
Southwold is famed for its beach huts; many of them have names as well as a number, and I was hugely amused by ‘Very Expensive Shed No 3’ – yup. These babies go for tens of thousands of pounds. Pretty, though.
In high season, I imagine Southwold is a bit overcrowded. But on a blowy March day, with storm clouds boiling over the North Sea, it was just lovely. Nothing beats a walk on the east coast to blow the cobwebs out and the miseries away.
Southwold is very pretty, full of little greens – these are natural firebreaks, included as part of the plans when the town was rebuilt in the mid-17th century after a serious fire.
We wandered round the town, and I took quite a few pics before paying my research team (aka buying them lunch and an ice cream).
And then we wandered by the church. There aren’t many clock jacks left (they used to strike the hour, though were muffled during church services); the other I know of is just round the corner from Southwold at Blythburgh, and apparently there’s one at Wells (Somerset) which is still attached to the clock. The lady in the church was absolutely lovely and let Madam pull the string to ring the bell, which pleased her immensely.
I was also very taken by the angels in the roof.
From Southwold, we headed for Walberswick. DH, grumbling about potholes: ‘Are you SURE this is a proper road?’ Stops and demands the map. Looks at it. Looks at me. ‘No. We’ll go the long way round.’ (He desperately wants SatNav, and unfortunately that little incident gave him ammunition. Still, at least I know what he wants for his birthday now.) Walberswick is very interesting (for my book, at least) because this is where George Orwell thought he saw a ghost – even timed and dated the occurrence in a letter.
This stretch of the coast always spooks me, whereas my home coast (just to the north) never does. Why? Just go and read MR James’s ‘O Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad’. I’m a huge MRJ fan, but this story is probably best read on a sunny afternoon. Read it at twilight and, if you have a good imagination, you’ll lose sleep…
We wandered round the town, and I took quite a few pics before paying my research team (aka buying them lunch and an ice cream).
And then we wandered by the church. There aren’t many clock jacks left (they used to strike the hour, though were muffled during church services); the other I know of is just round the corner from Southwold at Blythburgh, and apparently there’s one at Wells (Somerset) which is still attached to the clock. The lady in the church was absolutely lovely and let Madam pull the string to ring the bell, which pleased her immensely.
I was also very taken by the angels in the roof.
From Southwold, we headed for Walberswick. DH, grumbling about potholes: ‘Are you SURE this is a proper road?’ Stops and demands the map. Looks at it. Looks at me. ‘No. We’ll go the long way round.’ (He desperately wants SatNav, and unfortunately that little incident gave him ammunition. Still, at least I know what he wants for his birthday now.) Walberswick is very interesting (for my book, at least) because this is where George Orwell thought he saw a ghost – even timed and dated the occurrence in a letter.
This stretch of the coast always spooks me, whereas my home coast (just to the north) never does. Why? Just go and read MR James’s ‘O Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad’. I’m a huge MRJ fan, but this story is probably best read on a sunny afternoon. Read it at twilight and, if you have a good imagination, you’ll lose sleep…
4 comments:
Southwold is lovely. We went many years ago when I was pregant with my daughter. It was January and so everything was quiet. But I can remember Walberswick. And I do agree -- MR James best read on a sunny afternoon.
Love the angel, Kate. Every time I've ever been to Southwold it's been blowing a gale (or at least, that's what it felt like. They do have the most TEMPTING amber shop though...
That last photo looks like some place out of LotR where things will rise up out of the pools and grab the unwary.
Michelle - I think it's at its best, at this time of year.
Jan - thought you'd like the angel.
And that last photo... yup. It's actually somewhere else where the mermaids reside, but this part of the coast is the spookiest part of Britain. (That, and Chillingham Castle in Northumbria. I had major fidgets there and was freezing cold, even next to the open fire in the tearooms. And it was summer.)
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