I'm back in my favourite part of Norfolk on a sunny family holiday. We spend days eating great food, riding bikes no hands to the beach, running, playing frisbee and of course, swimming in the sea. The sea is warm, I've had cooler baths. It's a shame the tide goes out so bloody far. I tease my son by saying that I find the water cold. "What," he shouts incredulously as he tries to stand on my shoulders like he was six years old, "you swam in the ponds in January."
I read somewhere that there is a wild swimming spot in Old Hunstanton. Google maps tells me that there's a largish river that flows behind the church. However, my access is barred by armed police who are guarding the church for the imminent arrival of 'someone important'. A tour of the area on my bike gives no further clues to the river or the VIP. I could have bought a map with me, it might've helped.
I've introduced my son to the comedy and genius of Bill Hicks.
I read somewhere that there is a wild swimming spot in Old Hunstanton. Google maps tells me that there's a largish river that flows behind the church. However, my access is barred by armed police who are guarding the church for the imminent arrival of 'someone important'. A tour of the area on my bike gives no further clues to the river or the VIP. I could have bought a map with me, it might've helped.
I've introduced my son to the comedy and genius of Bill Hicks.
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| The beach, the beach, the beach |