There’s a postscript to what I was saying about Norfolk. When I was two years old, we (me, my parents and my older sister) went to Sheringham for a two-week caravan holiday. The weather was exactly as it was last week (only with fog and mist as well as rain and wind), so much so that (and I’m going on my mum’s word here, as I remember none of it) by the end of the first week, we gave up and went home to dry out, to find that the rest of the country was experiencing a heatwave. After three days, my parents decided they might as well make the most of what little time was left, and drove back over to Norfolk. They reached Hunstanton and all was well (we splashed around on the beach there), but by the time they neared Sheringham, the grey mist descended again, and stayed in place all week.
I think it put my parents off Norfolk for life, but fortunately it doesn’t seem to have imprinted itself on my subconscious. In any weather, it’s a great corner of the world.
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