An early morning walk along the beach. It would have been rude not to, being beside the seaside and all that.
And then the hit and miss of trying to connect to the modern interweb in rural Norfolk for a morning work shift.
Testing, testing, 1, 2.
Phew.
I published a couple of hit and miss April Fool stories - one for Buzz, and one for The Chronic.
They’re piss easy to write, to be honest. In a world where fake news seems to rise up the agenda, I sometimes think that my ‘talents’ are wasted.
I struggle to find any April Fool stories even slightly amusing.
Sheringham Park Run was up next.
I rather enjoy the challenge of a new Park Run course. My enthusiasm went a little ewww when the Race Director explained the course is in the top three for inclines.
I was relieved to hear:
“The cows aren’t out in the field yet, and so we are sticking with our usual route.”
Brockwell Park Run this wasn’t.
The reason why the cows weren’t out was because there was a bloody huge cattle grid en route. It was more like running a steeple chase.
A steam train did the choo choo thing as I hit the home straight.
He’ll be coming round the mountain, when he comes, etc.
It felt like a bloody mountain with the uphill limp to the line.
I finished in 19th place - 3rd in my age cat. The official race time of 22’09” was half decent.
I persuaded my Mum to give it a go next week.
A quick clean up in the caravan, and then I stepped out on a walk towards Sheringham. The vintage shop teased me with the most amazing cravat rack.
The Liverpool Vs Everton match had my on / off attention over luncheon. It was more off than on.
I was under orders to clean the caravan windows. Some fancy sucking device was used. It wasn’t as SEXY as it sounds.
A Cromer crab walk followed.
But I didn’t buy any crabs.
Daniel Cruz Tizon kept me company during the walk. I caught up with three more podcasts.
It was GLORIOUS North Norfolk walking weather. Cruz Tizon was still agonising over his winter coat.
I had three things to buy en route:
Something from the army surplus shop that I always visit around these parts, a present for my parents and BOOZE.
I failed on all three counts.
I was tempted by a beautiful shopper bicycle that had been left out for sale in West Runton. I may return in the morning.
The best that Cromer had to offer late on Saturday evening was a micro-brewery [ring bell for entry] and a tattoo parlour next door.
I pressed the wrong buzzer. I came close to leaving Cromer with a souvenir that I wasn’t expecting.
The walk back to the caravan was a bloody slog. I took the beach route along sinking sands.
The trick is to find the ideal saturation point in the sand. Too soft and you sink; too dry and you are desert walking.
I arrived back looking not too dissimilar to my post Park Run appearance nine hours earlier.
We watched Reading Vs Dirty Leeds.
Dirty Leeds were very dirty.
Knackered.