Scratch

Here you will find older scratches, musings and other detritus that once were located on the front pages, but have now faded.

Filed away here to collect dust and cobwwwebs in perpetuity, links may break, facts may change and data may corrupt.

On occasion I may come down here to tidy, but for the most, I prefer to leave the past where it lies.

 

Suffolk

Last weekend, we had the pleasure of attending the wedding reception of two of my work colleagues (to each other), that was held in the depths of Suffolk. The journey was pretty much as anticipated - sunny and pleasant, depositing us in around Diss shortly after dusk, and with the last of the light we bid farewell to the main road, lights and civilisation and disappeared into rural Suffolk.

Ten minutes later, we were urm, lost.

A further ten minutes later, we had given up on the small digital map I had downloaded earlier in the day, for its failure to adapt to the seemingly dark magics bending space time around us. Perhaps its not entirely fair. Perhaps its not dark magics, merely murky grey magics fueled by Wrong Turn-esque locals who wear teeth necklaces... I suspect however, its more something to do with there being no real distinction between public roads, personal driveways, the latter of which are often wider and straighter, and fields. There is also the issue that if you pass a sign you will see a sign to x y miles behind you and then two minutes down the road (with no turn offs other than residential areas or ponds) you see the location the same distance in front. The one benefit about driving in the night however, which we realised the morning after, is that you don't see the cows that seem to roam freely on the fields - cows without borders, as by lord there are quite a few, and whilst you may see some roadkill*, you don't see many cows. Well not compared to the amount of wrecked Mazda MX-5s. That, and the carefully concealed signs, but thats a story for another day.

Eventually, after much luck and praying, we found our destination - Gables Farm Bed & Breakfast in Wingfield. Knowing in advance we may well be pushed for time, I took the opportunity to book a dinner at the recommended and newly re-opened (it was closed) local village pub - the De La Pole Arms with a view to offloading our stuff and wandering down - and knowing I might fancy trying a local tipple after such a long drive, one of the criteria was could we walk?. And the answer was yes.

Hindsight being the thing it is, its obvious we could walk - I have legs, ergo I can (usually) walk. The question shoulds have been, is it less than thirty minutes walk to the other side of the village, in the dark, in the rain, with no map? Five minutes drive later and we arrived relatively unscathed. The pub is lovely, the food is very very good, and I would recommend visiting if you are in the area (intentionally or otherwise).

Breakfast the following morning was, for me anyway, a traditional English breakfast affair (sans black pudding), where we happened to meet the random people we had been sitting next to in the pub who were obviously staying in the same guest house. One coincidentally was for the same wedding as us, and the other happened to be Celia Imrie.

Saturday day was spent wandering round Banham Zoo where we met some kewl Llama's, some rare Snow Leopards, lots of birds of prey and a giant triceratops (photos will eventually follow). I remember it was soo cold so we stopped of to get a coffee. Having been previously diddled by the Llama / goat feed vending machine, I made sure I asked for additional coins so we could return later. When asked by my better half

Are you going to feed the Llamas?

my only response was

No, I am going to watch them bite you.

the girl behind the counter laughed. Hours later my right shoulder would bruise. These things always make better photos - Llama's eating people moreso than photos of my right bicep.

Returning to the B&B, we stopped of at another local pub, the Swan at Hoxne (a place that I would later, in a drinken state argue with a cab driver for a good 20 minutes about why it was pronounced Hox-en locally but all outsiders, cue tumbleweed, pronounced it Hox-ney). Anyhoo, wherever it was, I had a nice fish and chips. A short doze at the B&B later, and it was off to Yaxley Hall and the wedding reception.

Whilst I could not fault the house upon arrival, the drive up had me worried. We turned off the main road and onto the driveway. As we approached the house loomed in the distance, but was briefly replaced by two smaller residences which presumably shared the same drive way. As we passed the first one, in the window stood a man, 40s - 50s, wearing an unbuttoned dressing gown and a guitar. I am hoping he was wearing a gravy stained vest, if not he has the most gravy-dribble-esque birth marks down his chest and presumably... anyway. It was some minutes after arriving that the sound of duelling banjos faded from my head, but once we had arrived, the locals were all forgotten and replaced by the evening ahead. The Bride looked lovely. The Groom looked Groomlike (and that is a compliment) in the way all Grooms do - we may look good in a suit, we meet and greet and are the happiest chap on the planet, but I don't think any of us could outshine the better half in their wedding dress on the day. The food was lovely, the band were brilliant, and the beer was there for the drinking. It was a wonderful evening.

The following morning we woke up, well 50% of us did - it took me until at least the morning coffee to be vaguely with it. Ms Imrie asked whether we had a good night, so presumably if I ever meet her again I will apologies for stumbling in one over the eight at a considerable time passed the witching hour. We said our goodbyes, checked out and headed out into the fields and forests to run a family errand. After that, we stopped off for pancakes and apple pie at a bit before 10am before heading home.

'Twas a lovely weekend, and just what was needed.

14 Mar 2007 23:46 | (0) comments | Things

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