Category: Chedgrave and Loddon

Art for Art’s Sake

I don’t know the first thing about art. Like beauty, it’s all in the eye of the beholder. I do know a lot of old twaddle is said and written on the subject. The stuff we have hanging on our walls is there because of the stories and meanings behind the images – the emotional and sentimental value rather than the worth artistically or financially. And we certainly have nothing to declare for insurance purposes. Here’s a sample…

  • A Green Man fit for a country cottage
  • The lady of the house always takes pride
    of place wherever we are and has done
    so eight times to date
  • A leaving gift from our Bodrum
    landlady who embroidered it
    herself, stitching the fabric to the
    page of an old Turkish newspaper
  • No idea how I acquired this but I think
    its a piece of fancy wallpaper
  • Original oil paintings picked up in a
    shop on Mykonos
  • Photos of ‘proper art’ – massive
    metallic installations created by an
    old friend of Liam’s
  • Double exposure – Liam and the Alps
  • The first print I ever bought, picked
    up in an art shop in Covent Garden
  • A gift from a friend who knows us only
    too well!
  • One the posters featuring my book
    created for a Norwich Art Exhibition
  • A Chinese silk Liam picked up in
    Hong Kong
  • A birthday gift from a Bodrum Belle
  • John Garner
    (1967-2003)
  • Liam wanted ducks so Liam got ducks
  • An original watercolour of Norfolk
    beach huts by Jenny Parfitt
  • A gift from a waitress at the Eleonas Country Village
    in Crete, the venue for our second honeymoon
  • A leaving gift for Liam
  • The first thing Liam bought for me while
    we were on a date in Brighton
  • A photo of an original painting by
    author Iona Jenkins used as a cover
    for one of her books
  • Elton John commemorative
    stamps from the Royal Mail. I have
    all these albums

Taking the Bull by the Horns

Taking the Bull by the Horns

After a dull, damp winter, the spring has been warm and friendly – pale blue skies and wispy clouds – perfect weather for back-garden BBQs and slow walks along the Wherryman’s Way. Some readers may remember our clash with Daisy, the mad cow last autumn. On the warmest day of the year so far, we decided to return to the scene of our undoing. It was time to finally face our demons.

We took a circuitous route from Chedgrave, through Loddon, past pretty cottages dripping with wisteria and locked-down pubs looking sad in the sun, finally arriving at the riverside clearing at Pye’s Mill.

After a brief stopover for some extra vitamin D and a beef baguette, we girded our loins and wandered into the field where the evil cows graze. Keeping a watery ditch between them and us, we proved that man and beast can live together in perfect harmony, as long as they keep to their side of the moat. Job done and safely home, we chucked a couple of burgers on the grill.

Lucky Jack

Lucky Jack

Liam and I know how lucky we are. We don’t have children to feed, educate and amuse. We don’t have elderly parents to care for. We don’t have serious physical or mental health issues. We don’t live in a flat with no outside space. We don’t have money worries. And we don’t live where COVID-19 has been most deadly – quite the contrary, in fact. Some people have all these things tied up in a bow. Yes, we know how lucky we are.

The Rainbow Tree

The Rainbow Tree

If you go down to the woods today you’re sure of a big surprise. No, not teddy bears having a picnic but a rainbow tree adorned with ribbons and messages of hope for troubling times.

Glorious weather brought out flocks of lycra’d cyclists and packs of dog walkers in sensible shoes. Everyone toed the line, distance wise, and we didn’t encounter any pond life thinking the 2 metre rule didn’t apply to them.

By the end of our stroll we’d worked up quite a thirst but, as the pubs are all shut, we made do with a glass or two in the garden afterwards. Life could be worse. We could run out of booze.

Drinking Through the Crisis

I cannot lie. I was so relieved when off licences were added to the list of essential retailers. A dry lockdown would be way beyond the pale ale and, thankfully, local shops are well-stocked with the hard stuff, helping to tranquilise us through the coronavirus crisis.

We’re creatures of habit, Liam and I. And touring the village watering holes for a few bevvies is one of them. We call it doing our bit for the local economy. As they’re all shut up for the time being, we get our fix by cracking open a bottle and joining in the White Horse virtual pub quiz on Facebook every Monday at 8pm. It’s not quite the same as the real thing and it’s too easy to cheat – not that we do, of course – but it’s as good as it gets right now.

Simon, Chedgrave’s very own jolly landlord, is doing his bit to keep community peckers up and the virtual quiz really helps. He also does a nice line in colourful shirts to brighten up the dullest of days – always a talking point. Sartorially, though, he’s got a long way to go before he can compete with the nation’s all-time favourite pub landlady – bottle-blond, chain-smoker, Bet Lynch (AKA Julie Goodyear). Bet’s signature look was leopard skin. She covered everything in it, even her chest exerciser.

Brassy Bet’s tenure behind the bar at the Rovers Return on Coronation Street may be long over but you can catch her glory days weekday afternoons on ITV3. That’s what I do.

The Great British Bake Off

It’s just as well Liam and I get along. Pressure cooker living 24/7 could strain even the most intimate relationship. Our neighbours are also in confinement for the duration and so thin cottage walls means dialling down the dirty pillow talk for a while. I let off steam by swearing at Alexa and trying (unsuccessfully) to get her to swear back. Liam relieves stress by punching the hell out of the dough. The result isn’t half bad. When we’re finally released from house arrest, the Great British Bake Off could be on the menu.

Water Sports

Life may have slowed to a trickle but that didn’t stop a couple of water pipes choosing the worst time to burst – one in the loft and another beneath the bath. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, one leak might be regarded as a misfortune; two looks like carelessness. With water drip, drip, dripping down our dining room wall, we weren’t sure if plumbing emergencies were exempt from the national lockdown. But a nice man with his big wrench came round to stem the tide anyway. With most shops shut, our young saviour managed to source a length of copper pipe from the wind chime in his father-in-law’s garden, proving that necessity really is the mother of invention. We are forever in his (and his papa-in-law’s) debt.

Life in Lockdown

Life in Lockdown

We awake each morning to a cacophony of birdsong and days have merged into one. Life in lockdown passes at a snail’s pace with tasks expanded to fill the time available. Paid work has more or less dried up so domestic chores and essential errands dominate our days. Liam’s very handy with the hoover while I over-dust the knick-knacks. The house has never been so clean. Cabin fever and wall climbing is relieved by long walks along the river Chet and the queue outside our local Co-op store – keeping our distance from others, of course.

You Gotta Roll With It

With much of the planet in the grip of a coronavirus, we’re social distancing by buckling down watching the Chase on the box with our feet up. We venture out only when absolutely necessary – usually when the booze runs low. Unlike the stupid and the selfish, we haven’t raided the local shops for loo roll. If we do run out, we’ll fall back on the pile of old newspapers we’ve set aside for the log burner. With all this enforced intimacy, expect a global baby boom and a rocketing divorce rate.

Petty Prejudices

“Ar ya brothers?”

asked the driver in broad Naarfuk as we clambered into the back of the taxi. Here we go, I thought. We’re gonna have that conversation again.

Cabbies are notorious chatterboxes, aren’t they? I think it’s in the job description. And they’ve usually got a view on absolutely everything, with opinions often slightly to the right of Attila the Hun. I knew where the conversation was heading and I didn’t fancy going round the houses so I cut straight to the chase.

“No, we’re husbands.”

“Oh, reet. Me youngest is gay too.”

It turns out our local yokel is totally unfazed by his son’s sexuality and he told us about it – loudly and proudly all the way.

“’Bin goin’ steady wiv the boyfriend for a couple of year now. I ‘ear weddin’ bells. I might get me a noo ‘at!”

So much for my petty prejudices.