Drinking from the Furry Cup

Coachmaker's ArmsA gruelling morning of shopping and pushing through the madding crowds emptied us of Christmas cheer so we decided to refill it at a local hostelry. Minutes from the loft, the Coachmaker’s Arms is by far the most patronised pub in the vicinity, despite the whiff of damp and the beer flies dive-bombing the kegs of real ale lined up behind the bar. The pub was nose to nipple but we managed to squeeze onto a couple of stools to rest our weary legs. As we supped, it was impossible not to eavesdrop on the animated conversations of the punters. Our ears swivelled like bats to the sound of a couple of Norfolk broads behind us:

 “Well, lets face it, you’ve cheated on him loads of times.”

“No I haven’t. That was just a bunch of lesbians.”

Normal for Norfolk?

The Great British High Street

Congratulations to Norwich Lanes for being awarded first place in the City Category of the Great British High Street Competition. Sadly, Belly Button, the shop I used in my original post is no longer trading – a victim of hard times, perhaps. I should have checked first. Consider my busy wrist well and truly slapped.

Jack Scott's avatarPerking the Pansies

High_StreetNorwich Lanes, a hotchpotch of mostly medieval streets and alleys and home to over 300 independent retailers, cafés and bars, has been nominated for the Great British High Street Awards 2014. Let’s face it, these days, the British high street needs all the help it can get to survive the relentless onslaught of samey out of town retail parks and the likes of Amazon. So far, the Lanes have managed to buck the depressing trend and are holding their own by offering something unique and quirky to please the punters. Well, who wouldn’t love a shop called Belly Button? So if you’re an East Anglian (and even if you’re not), why not show a little support? Visit the Norwich Lanes website for more info.

Belly Button

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The Great British High Street

High_StreetNorwich Lanes, a hotchpotch of mostly medieval streets and alleys and home to over 300 independent retailers, cafés and bars, has been nominated for the Great British High Street Awards 2014. Let’s face it, these days, the British high street needs all the help it can get to survive the relentless onslaught of samey out of town retail parks and the likes of Amazon. So far, the Lanes have managed to buck the depressing trend and are holding their own by offering something unique and quirky to please the punters. Well, who wouldn’t love a shop called Belly Button? So if you’re an East Anglian (and even if you’re not), why not show a little support? Visit the Norwich Lanes website for more info.

Belly Button

The Last Rolo

Fellow author, David Gee, recently uncovered a dusty old silver screen classic while rummaging around the video vault at the University of East Anglia. ‘Come With Me to Norwich‘ is a 1952 documentary presented by Richard Dimbleby, BBC patrician and father to David and Jonathan. It’s a ghostly narrative of a bygone era full of bulldog optimism set against the rising tide of a new world order. Fast-forwarding to 2014, it’s fascinating to see what’s gone the way of the dodo and what’s survived against the odds. Mid-Twentieth Century Norwich once traded in mustard, money, shoes and chocolate. But where are they now?

Colman’s of Norwich

In 1814, mustard maker, Jeremiah Colman, founded Colman’s of Norwich, four miles south of the city. By 1865 production had transferred to a large factory near the city centre where the firm still produces mustard and mustard-derived products as an operational division of that enormous global conglomerate, Unilever.

Norwich Union

In 1797, merchant and banker, Thomas Bignold, founded the Norwich Union Society for the Insurance of Houses, Stock and Merchandise from Fire. The less than catchy name soon became known simply as Norwich Union. Today, the Footsie 100 company is branded as Aviva and is the sixth largest insurer in the world.

Startrite

It was in 1792 that a cordwainer called James Smith made the first off the peg shoes, shoes that ordinary folk could afford. Unsurprisingly, Jimmy’s big idea caught on. The business evolved into the Startrite brand, manufacturing footwear for rug rats. Startrite is still headquartered in Norwich but manufacturing has been outsourced to India. Fortunately, that wasn’t the end of cordwaining in the city. Van Dal still make half a million pairs of gorgeous heels every year for Norfolk broads, drag queens and cross-dressers everywhere. The times they are still a-changing: Startrite is looking for a deep-pocketed investor and Van Dal is being sold to its employees.

Rowntree-Mackintosh

In 1857, AJ Caley established a chemists business in London Street which evolved into a distiller of mineral water and a chocolatier. As the company grew, it moved to new premises in Chapelfield. The firm was sold off by the Caley family in 1918 and sold on to confectioners, Mackintosh, in 1932. In 1937, the first rolo rolled off the production line. This was soon followed by Munchies and Caramac, brands I have devoured with tooth-rotting regularity ever since being knee-high to a grasshopper. By 1969, Mackintosh had merged with Rowntree to make one of the world’s premier confectioners, but it wasn’t to last. In 1988, Rowntree-Mackintosh was controversially set upon by the Swiss food giant, Nestlé. The hostile takeover resulted in a period of savage cost-cutting. The Chapelfield factory was closed with a loss of over 900 jobs and all production was moved to York. The last rolo rolled off the Chapelfield production line in 1994.

There’s still a Caley’s of Norwich, manufacturer of fairtrade chocolate with an online business based in Hampshire and Caley’s Cocoa Cafe in Norwich’s Guildhall. What connection these businesses have to each other and to the old Caley family is anyone’s guess. Still, the name lives on.

Chapelfield Shopping Centre

The old Rowntree-Mackintosh chocolate factory has given way to the posh Chapelfield Shopping Centre. All that remains of the old industrial buildings are the granite millstones that used to grind the cocoa beans, now re-used as seating for the huddled gangs of smoking pariahs outside the rear entrance to the mall. Rolos have given way to Apple, Munchies to Mango. And so our post-industrial world is kept turning by rampant consumerism, conspicuous spending only interrupted by the occasional Costa coffee. Make mine a cappuccino. With a generous sprinkle of Cadbury’s on top.

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The Elephant Parade

The Chapelfield Shopping Centre, but a hop and a spit from our micro-loft, has been invaded by a herd of elephants in multi-coloured livery – all courtesy of local artists and school kids. The parade of florescent nellies is on international tour and aims to raise awareness of the plight of Asian elephants. Can’t argue with that, I suppose.

The exhibition is similar in theme to the last year’s gorillas in our midst  but with a more modest spread and duration. These nellies though, have something the guys never had – their very own gallery and shop. It’s a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of facts and figurines. Okay, the little ceramic elephants are a bit on the pricey side but it’s all in a noble cause.

Judging by the hordes of hyperventilating kiddies, the nellies are proving much more popular than the knuckle dragging guys. Must be the cute Dumbo factor. Follow the herd before it migrates to pastures new on 5th May. What next, I wonder? Tigers? Pandas? Rhinos? Howabout Dodos?

Bah! Humbug!

bah humbug1I’m no scrooge, really I’m not. The piggy bank may have dropped a few pounds since my days as a senior bean counter, shuffling a pile of papers from one side of my desk to the other then back again, but we can still afford to spend a farthing or two on our nearest and dearest. We just can’t thrash the plastic to make the grand gesture any more. Britain may be finally emerging from the longest and deepest recession since the Great Depression but our days of austerity are permanent (that is, unless Liam’s Lotto numbers come up). It’s fine. We don’t mind. It’s our choice. Let’s face it, I could always stop mucking about with this writing lark and get a proper job.

Anyway, don’t you think festive fever is a bit OTT these days? I’m not one of those old farts down the pub who will bore you with their sad Victorian tales of home-sewn Christmas stockings stuffed with two walnuts and a satsuma – very A Christmas Carol.  No, I got a Dalek suit, a Hot Wheels racing set, an action man with all the butch accessories and enough Dinky toys to run Port Talbot (admit it, you thought I played with Barbie dolls, didn’t you?). It just the whole commercial juggernaut seems to start earlier and earlier and by the time the baby Jesus pops out, I’m ready to chuck my lot in with the Devil. That’s why I just love this glorious ad from posh Knightsbridge department store, Harvey Nichols (superior by far to their more famous neighbour, Harrods, only spitting distance away). It’s a breath of fresh air. 

The video was first picked up by the lovely Aussie Kym at Gidday from the UK.  Ta!

Roy’s Town

Roy’s Town

At the tail end of summer, we took an afternoon excursion to Wroxham, gateway to the Norfolk Broads. We expected pretty and quaint with teahouses, old pubs and happy holiday-makers splashing about in boats. We were disappointed. Anything worth preserving got bull-dozed in the seventies. The small town is entirely dominated by someone called Roy – Roy’s Supermarket, Roy’s Pharmacy, Roy’s Toys, Roy’s Garden Centre (and, no doubt, Roy’s Baby Care and Roy’s Undertakers – a company town from cradle to the grave). Even Ronald McDonald, that global corporate clown, has thrown in the towel by flogging his sweaty burgers and thin chips inside one of Roy’s gaffs. It’s probably a franchise. Far be it for me to criticise anyone who provides local employment but what’s the special deal if Roy kicks the bargain bucket?

Whatever Happened to Shergar?

Whatever Happened to Shergar?

Following the horse meat scandal that swept the continent, supermarkets are spending millions to restore public confidence in their products. They could have saved a lot of bother and expense by not shoving Red Rum in the mincer in the first place. Now we know what happened to Shergar. Budget chain, Aldi, have been running an ad campaign on TV which makes me smile. Why are the ads often more entertaining and inventive than the programmes they interrupt? Money, I suppose. Click on the Aldi Logo to check it out.

aldi-logo

Ye Olde Curiosity Shop

Ye Olde Curiosity Shop

The traditional high street is under seige from a flat-lining economy, increased rents (no, I don’t understand that either during a recession) and the relentless pressure from the big boys with their charmless out-of-town retail parks sucking up all the trade. Norwich seems to have bucked the trend by preserving its novelty. Of course, the narrow maze of city centre streets has its fair share of chains with their identikit offerings but there’s also a treasure trove of independents to graze. Maybe the city’s relative isolation is its saviour (the last section of the dual carriageway from the Smoke is only now being built and the train service is express-less). Perhaps it’s a benign planning environment by farsighted burghers. Who knows? Whatever the reason, long may it continue. Here’s just a small sample to whet the appetite and loosen the purse.

Jarrolds is a Norwich institution. The family-run business has outlets dotted about all over the shop. The Book Hive is the best independent bookshop in town. Both Jarrolds and the Book Hive declined to stock my book. Jarrolds refused (politely). The Book Hive didn’t respond at all. I don’t hold it against them (much).

The Grosvenor Fish Bar on the corner of Pottergate and Lower Goat Lane offers delicious, artery-hardening deep-fried heart attacks. It gets my vote because punters are welcome to finger the fish over a pint in the pub opposite. Personally, I prefer to nibble on a battered sausage (cue Liam). The public house in question, The Birdcage, has been the scene of our undoing many times now.

Fish Bar and Pub

I doubt Meryl Streep ever visited this corner of the Dark Continent when she was attempting a truly terrible Viking accent in ‘Out of Africa.’  Do they really sell slices of crocodile, ostrich, springbok and zebra? Well, if Tesco’s can flog donkey burgers, why not?

Liam spends endless hours thumbing through the sheet music in this old-school music shop as he contemplates a profitable sideline teaching piano. He’s quite talented with his fingers, my Liam. This little gem is right along the street from our weaver’s cottage.

St George's Music Shop

Finally, my personal favourite – not because I’m a cock in a frock at weekends and call myself Jacky but because Pepperberry’s sell ‘clothes designed with your boobs in mind.’  It’s just as well, as I have noticed that quite a few Norfolk broads do look like they’ve eaten all the pies.

Pepperberry

The Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide

The Bodrum Peninsula on Turkey’s stunning Aegean coast is the summer playground for hundreds of thousands of discerning holiday-makers offering something for everyone – the beach bum, party animal, culture vulture or adrenalin junkie. Described as the ‘San Tropez of Turkey,’ the whitewashed town of Bodrum (ancient Halicarnassus) is the beating heart of the Peninsula where the Turkish elite come to let their hair down. ‘The Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide: Turkey’s Aegean Gem’ is the definitive book for visitors and expats alike from the marvelous Jay Artale, part-time resident and someone in the know. The book is packed to the rafters with meticulously researched facts and fun, sites and scenes, eats and treats, must-dos and don’t-dos, both on and off the well-beaten track. Need to know how to get about? Want insider knowledge on the best boat trips to hidden coves and where to find ancient sites to tumble over? Looking for the best places to eat for authentic rustic cuisine? Fancy a high-energy water-ski ride around the bay? Dying to know what bars to see and be seen in? It’s all here, and much, much more. Whether dipping in for a hint or two or reading cover-to-cover in one serving, this book should be in everyone’s suitcase.