Holt, home to Gresham's School and the over-priced boutique, is situated a few miles inland from the North Norfolk coast. Holt appears to have been spared the fate of other 'market towns' in Norfolk (i.e. rapid decline) due to two factors. First, it doesn't appear to actually have a market, although I could be wrong on this point and am sure someone will gently correct me if I am. Second, as I mentioned earlier, it boasts 'Norfolk's 'Premier' Private School', and thus attracts quite a posh clientele both in terms of inhabitants and visitors.
Although I like Holt, it also fills me with an instant sense of impending doom. This is due more to associations I have with it than to the town itself.
As a young child I travelled through Holt every week day on the way to school. It represented that half way marker between home and school when you realised that you hadn't managed to convince your mum that you had stomach ache, and had reached the point of no return and death by spelling test.
Many years later I had my first driving lessons in Holt which were also cause for stomach churning fear, mainly on the part of other road users and pedestrians. I wasn't a naturally observant driver and frequently used to fail to stop at the pedestrian crossing in the centre of the town. There is always an added frisson of danger when driving in Holt as it is pretty much devoid of pavements but plentiful in its supply of ambling tourists, elderly residents and Boden-bedecked yummy mummies just popping into Larners for some Vignotte.
More recently it was the venue for our wedding and, although I felt very little in the way of nerves that day, I shall never forget driving down the road parallel to the church and seeing the rows of cars parked there. I experienced that moment of it all becoming 'real'. People had actually turned up for it and were in the church waiting for me including, I hoped, my future husband.
As far as I am aware there are few actual tourist attractions in Holt. It's more a case of the whole town being an attraction it itself. There are lots of quirky shops and boutiques, an Art Gallery and of course Byfords which does fantastic cakes. If you have a mid-morning snack there you won't need to eat for the rest of the day, but then, if you've spent the day in Holt you probably won't be able to afford to eat for the rest of the day!
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Sunday, 4 August 2013
Friday, 26 July 2013
Go Go Gorilla.
Today we went into Norwich to look at the Gorillas. It was fun but very warm and tiring and at present I am struggling to glean anything even remotely hilarious from the experience to write about, the heat having drained every last vestige of wit from me. Bryn was most amused that one of the exhibits was called Geoffrey (his dad's name) and I was disappointed that Prince of Wales Road (the rough area with lots of night clubs) didn't have a drunk gorilla being bundled into a police van, or one in stilettos slurring 'I love you, you're my best friend'.
On the way home the 'Norfolk Driving Experience' (Now there's an idea for one of those gift experiences you can buy your loved ones. Balloon ride? Swim with dolphins? No. Sit behind a combine for 3 hours) was taken to new highs (lows?) as the traffic on a major road came to a standstill behind a lady on a mobility scooter. Someone please tell me that isn't legal.
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| Geoffrey the Gorilla |
On the way home the 'Norfolk Driving Experience' (Now there's an idea for one of those gift experiences you can buy your loved ones. Balloon ride? Swim with dolphins? No. Sit behind a combine for 3 hours) was taken to new highs (lows?) as the traffic on a major road came to a standstill behind a lady on a mobility scooter. Someone please tell me that isn't legal.
Thursday, 18 July 2013
Room 101: My top 5
Being a bit of an opinionated old cow, you can imagine that there are many things which I would gladly put in room 101. Here are my current top 5. I'm sure once I get going on my whinge fest I shall find it hard to stop so 5 is my self-imposed cut off point...for now.
At number 5 we have Bad Drivers. You have already heard my rant about slow drivers but they are not my only target. I am equally infuriated by the boom-boom boys who speed up our road in a narrow, residential area with lots of parked cars. Incidentally your music is crap and if I wanted to make my ears bleed I am sure I could find a more enjoyable way of doing so. Also in the bad drivers category are those who have yet to locate the switch for their lights and indicators. There are a surprisingly high number of these in Norfolk.
Number 4 sees a new entry with 'poor broadband provision'. Perhaps I am being just a touch over demanding here but if I pay for a service, I generally expect to receive it. Clearly most broadband providers are not burdened by such ethical niceties.
A non-mover at number 3. Poor grammar, especially apostrophes (or should that be apostrophe's?!)
Now, I am acutely aware that their are errors in my grammar. I get a bit confused with commas, semi-colons and colons. Fortunately my 8 year old has been giving me some lessons citing introduction of lists, linking a sub-clause to the main clause and separating items on a list. I'm getting, there; I think:
At number 2 a strange one; repeated noises. I can't stand it if an alarm or buzzer is going off for more than a few seconds. An un-answered phone can drive me to screaming point. Even some music with very repetitive lyrics can push me to the brink of insanity.
Number 1 is controversial and I know some readers will not agree with me but I loathe personalised number plates with a passion. I see no reason for them. The only purpose they can possibly serve is to say 'Look at me, I have loads of cash'. There is, however, one personalised number plate I would make an exception for and this is one which has been spotted in a nearby town and bears the letters 'NFN'. Maybe I could be persuaded to change my mind if that came up for sale ...
At number 5 we have Bad Drivers. You have already heard my rant about slow drivers but they are not my only target. I am equally infuriated by the boom-boom boys who speed up our road in a narrow, residential area with lots of parked cars. Incidentally your music is crap and if I wanted to make my ears bleed I am sure I could find a more enjoyable way of doing so. Also in the bad drivers category are those who have yet to locate the switch for their lights and indicators. There are a surprisingly high number of these in Norfolk.
Number 4 sees a new entry with 'poor broadband provision'. Perhaps I am being just a touch over demanding here but if I pay for a service, I generally expect to receive it. Clearly most broadband providers are not burdened by such ethical niceties.
A non-mover at number 3. Poor grammar, especially apostrophes (or should that be apostrophe's?!)
Now, I am acutely aware that their are errors in my grammar. I get a bit confused with commas, semi-colons and colons. Fortunately my 8 year old has been giving me some lessons citing introduction of lists, linking a sub-clause to the main clause and separating items on a list. I'm getting, there; I think:
At number 2 a strange one; repeated noises. I can't stand it if an alarm or buzzer is going off for more than a few seconds. An un-answered phone can drive me to screaming point. Even some music with very repetitive lyrics can push me to the brink of insanity.
Number 1 is controversial and I know some readers will not agree with me but I loathe personalised number plates with a passion. I see no reason for them. The only purpose they can possibly serve is to say 'Look at me, I have loads of cash'. There is, however, one personalised number plate I would make an exception for and this is one which has been spotted in a nearby town and bears the letters 'NFN'. Maybe I could be persuaded to change my mind if that came up for sale ...
Family Holidays Part One: Journey and Arrival
So, as I stagger towards the end of term (I've always thought that Gok Wan's efforts would be much more profitably spent on a series called 'How to Teach Good Knackered') I begin to reflect on that greatest of oxymorons 'The Family Holiday'.
The majority of my childhood/teenage holidays involved the caravan, trekking off with my parents and two brothers to various corners of the UK and France towing this mobile torture cell, sorry I mean 'home' behind us. If it was ever in front of us then we knew we were in trouble.
As we know, every holiday begins with the journey. Now, I am sure that this points to a huge character flaw in me, possibly even a personality disorder, but when I'm going somewhere I just like to get there. The less time spent in the car/air/train/sunshine community minibus the better. Unfortunately my father does not share my point of view, preferring to take his time, stop every hour and shun major roads. Don't forget, these were the days before Sat Nav so we would spend many a happy afternoon getting lost on country roads with pensioners on push bikes overtaking us and probably covering about 15 miles in the process. On this basis driving down to the South of France could take several days.
Eventually, after days spent in a hot vehicle (no air con in those days) with precious little to do (batteries on 'personal stereo' went flat at Calais) we would arrive at 'Le camping Merde de Cochon' or similar. Great, time to get out, stretch your legs.... Oh no! We children had to remain in the car until dad had 'put the stays down'. To this day I am unsure what exactly this means, but it seemed to take an intolerably long time and involved much bad tempered shouting from Dad and encouragement and placating noises from Mum. We would finally be allowed in to the inner sanctum, with stern warnings to take our shoes off. The kettle would go on, tea would be made and for a few glorious moments all would be well with Famille Bennett. It would, dear reader, be all too short-lived...
The majority of my childhood/teenage holidays involved the caravan, trekking off with my parents and two brothers to various corners of the UK and France towing this mobile torture cell, sorry I mean 'home' behind us. If it was ever in front of us then we knew we were in trouble.
As we know, every holiday begins with the journey. Now, I am sure that this points to a huge character flaw in me, possibly even a personality disorder, but when I'm going somewhere I just like to get there. The less time spent in the car/air/train/sunshine community minibus the better. Unfortunately my father does not share my point of view, preferring to take his time, stop every hour and shun major roads. Don't forget, these were the days before Sat Nav so we would spend many a happy afternoon getting lost on country roads with pensioners on push bikes overtaking us and probably covering about 15 miles in the process. On this basis driving down to the South of France could take several days.
Eventually, after days spent in a hot vehicle (no air con in those days) with precious little to do (batteries on 'personal stereo' went flat at Calais) we would arrive at 'Le camping Merde de Cochon' or similar. Great, time to get out, stretch your legs.... Oh no! We children had to remain in the car until dad had 'put the stays down'. To this day I am unsure what exactly this means, but it seemed to take an intolerably long time and involved much bad tempered shouting from Dad and encouragement and placating noises from Mum. We would finally be allowed in to the inner sanctum, with stern warnings to take our shoes off. The kettle would go on, tea would be made and for a few glorious moments all would be well with Famille Bennett. It would, dear reader, be all too short-lived...
Sunday, 7 July 2013
Sunday Drivers...
Anyway, you can easily spot these offenders, sometimes from quite a distance. The first heart sink you get is when you spot the tow-bar. This normally indicates heavy caravan usage - not good. Then comes the parcel shelf. If it is liberally furnished with a tartan rug, tissues, cushions or straw boaters then you are in for a slow ride home. I'd say a good 3 miles an hour below the speed limit for each offending article.
The final nail in the coffin comes in the form of car stickers. Again, a mile or two slower for each of the following; Christian fish sticker, National Trust, Lifeboats, anything to do with animals.
The ironic thing in all this is that the very cars being driven at 33 mph along a major road often sport jaunty and frankly misleading names such as 'colt', 'jazz' or 'sprint'. I would like to start a campaign for the car name to be more accurate. How about a 'Peugeot Pensioner' , a 'Ford You can't be too careful' or a 'Rover...', well just a Rover really.
Saturday, 6 July 2013
Sat Nav
Living round these rural parts Sat Nav can be invaluable but it can also leave you incredulous that a machine could be so stupid. I often wonder if there is a national conspiracy to leave Norfolk off GPS systems so that we natives just end up driving around the county in a pleasantly befuddled manner but never actually get to escape!On one occasion I was out in the car with my young son and was getting particularly frustrated with the polite but rather frosty tone the Sat Nav lady was taking with me. The longer she persisted with her erroneous instructions the more fed up I got, until eventually I shouted at her "Shut up you daft cow!". She did...for several miles....and then for a few more.
In the back of the car my little boy was getting worried. "Mummy, you've upset the lady. You need to say sorry", he pleaded. And so it was that I found myself, lost in the depths of Norfolk, apologising to a small grey box. Amazingly she did start speaking again after that, and we eventually found our way home! Definitely a Normal for Norfolk moment.
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