April 23, 2013
WIDE open skies, without a cloud in sight, greeted us on Cley beach. A
fantastic morning, it felt like the whole world had taken a shower and emerged
clean and renewed.
A walk along the shingle bank produced a pair of greylag geese with
three delightful fluffy goslings, marsh harrier, sedge warbler, lots of avocet,
which are always so beautiful, plus godwit, sandwich tern, shelduck and
shoveler.
Nothing remarkable, but then, as the car park attendant told us, the
weather has been so cold that there are no insects for arriving migrants to
eat, and many are dying.
The dog, meanwhile, had found a ball-shaped fish egg sac and refused to
let it go, running off every time we tried to get near enough to stop him gradually
chewing and swallowing it. Yuk. And he now has smelly breath.
After a very good lunch in the visitor centre – a beautiful building with
spectacular views where my husband remembers only a scrubby old quarry the last
time he was up here – we set off along the coast road, through a succession of
picture-perfect villages, all brick and flint, and Farrow & Balled up to
the nines.
We were off to look up an old friend and meet his wife at their home in
Holme-next-the-Sea. Once-familiar sights, now rarities, spotted en route – a
Tardis-like police phone box in a garden, and an old-fashioned AA box that must
surely be one of the last of its kind.
Our friends treated us to a very civilised dinner at the Titchwell Manor
Hotel – highly recommended.
And leaving the dog in the Hymer, we slept like babies in their palatial
spare room.
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