The other day, my nephew and namesake asked me how many times I’d moved digs down the long, long years. I had to trawl the deepest recesses of my scatter brain to dredge up faded memories of homes sweet homes, tallying first with my fat fingers, then with my stunted toes. My digital sum revealed that our 17th century weaver’s gaff in Norwich is also my 17th home. It has a certain poetic ring to it don’t you think? Over the years, I’ve done home and away, foreign and familiar, new and old. Until now, I’d never done artisan (that’s homes not men, by the way). I’d never done public house either but it turns out that our new croft was converted into a pub in 1760. The first licensee was a certain Samuel Westall. Sam was a worsted weaver by trade but must have thought pulling pints and spinning yarns would be more profitable than downing pints and spinning yarn. Perhaps Sam saw the writing on the wall (though he probably couldn’t read what he saw) and decided to turn in his wheel before Jenny started her spinning. The pub was called the Kings Head and served up real ale to the drunks of Norwich for over 170 years until its sad demise in 1932. Somehow, I always knew I’d end up on my back in a bar.

You might also like:

Off With Their Heads!

‘Allo, ‘Allo, Norwich

Imagine the absurdity of two openly gay, married, middle aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country. I chronicled our exploits with the mad, the bad, the sad and the glad in a blog for the whole world to ignore. Then came the book which became a critically acclaimed best seller. Its success opened out a whole new career for me, firstly as an author, and now as an indie publisher. Who'd have thought it? Certainly not me. In June 2012, we ended our Anatolian affair and paddled back to Britain on the evening tide, washing up in Norwich, a surprising city in eastern England, then to the wilds of Norfolk as the only gays in the village. I’m sometimes nostalgic for our encounters with the hopeless, the hapless and, yes, the happy go lucky. They gave me an unexpected tale to tell and for this I thank them.

10 thoughts on “Homes Sweet Homes”

  1. . . though you’re tired and weary still journey on,
    ’til you come to your happy abode . . who was it sang that? Oh, yes! Sir Nikky Lauder.

    Like

    Reply

  2. Crazy to look back at all the moves in one’s life. I think I am catching up to your numbers far too quickly. Looks like the latest move is to quite the pleasant spot – loved the early pics. Hopefully there won’t be a move in your future for quite some time.

    Like

    Reply

  5. You’re almost as bad a me. I’m on my 18th and have tried 4 countries, 5 if you count the 5 weeks a year for over a decade I spend in France. Some folk think I move as I always think it’s greener on the other side etc. Not true I just love travelling and sometimes you need to immerse yourself or at least spend some time in one place when you get the urge to do so. You ignore those urges at your peril as you’ll always live in regret.

    Like

    Reply

Share your thoughts

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.