Thursday, 1 August 2013

Getting the hang of being a traveller.

Here's something weird. Now frying new potatoes. Seriously, in so many fish and chip shops, there are tacky signs promoting this new, exciting trend. You know what's unexciting? Not being able to get a flipping saveloy. I should mention that they also fry Mars Bars, Double Deckers, Snickers and even Bountys up there. But none of them sold saveloys. One even asked me what that was. I just shook my head and walked out.

I can now recognise Norman architecture, their choice of materials, style of decoration and form. I really have gone castle mad. Also Priory mad. They are so inspiring. A declaration of what man can achieve when he puts his mind to it. And today I went to three historic sites. History-r-us.

I'm now hanging my washing in the car, sporting a new washing line across the rear seats. Two bungee cords and some pegs later, he looks like a moving hostel. But my clothes are dry, and I'm no longer embarrassed. I don't even bother to put my sleeping bag away anymore.

Drove through Kings Lynn and within 10 minuets, 4 screaming police cars went by. Not going to the same place either. Full of chavs. And I left. Happy in the knowledge I'll never return again.

Back to history, with Castle Acre Priory. It was truly magnificent. The sheer scale of the site, the workmanship, the design. That someone envisioned it, is impressive enough, let alone put into practice. Each stone, carved by hand and placed using wooden scaffolding. And then ripped to pieces, by that fat narcissistic pig, Henry VIII. But then if he didn't, I might have been a nun, so good on him. Was listening to the audio guide and it said, to walk down the slope.  The were two. I took the one on the left. Mistake. The further I went, the more I realised something was wrong with this path. The arches were too small for doorways. Turns out I was walking under the 'toilet block' and through a river bed. Which was roughly the same time I realised I was sinking. The joy of walking in 1000 year old piss.

Dan keeps calling me. Over and over again. Obsessive much. Turned even more ghetto, and now I've upgraded from warming soup, to cooking rice on the side of the road. Next thing you know, I'll be making a roast. Went to Swaffham. Very nice place, but ridiculously expensive. I saw a teenager purchase 3, 500ml bottles of Lucazade for £5.07. And he didn't even flinch. Nothing. I was in shock just watching.

Went to Grimes Graves, a Neolithic flint mine. Predating Stonehenge, these people dug 150 mines, some up to 60ft deep. They dug so deep because they wanted the black flint, not the other flint. Fussy or what. Got to go down one mine (as the others were back filled), and the tunnels were tiny. It was insane, how they worked. Was feeling lonely that day, so I stayed talking to the staff for an hour, and had them cracking up, so much so, that I got free oat cakes, which were surprisingly nice.

One thing I appreciate about the countryside are the road names. Yes, most roads aren't even named, but when they do, they do it right. Castle Rd leads to the castle, Beach Rd to the beach, School Ln to the school.

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