As Noel Coward wrote “Very Flat, Norfolk”. And it is. I did expect a lot more waterways though and it wasn’t quite the bucolic venetian landscape I was led to believe. The Broads are man made dug out peat surface mines which flooded and a few canals interconnect – although there is the spendid Denver Sluice which protects Cambridgeshire from flooding where various waterways, including the splendidly named Great Ouse, all interconnect and are redirected during high waters with a locking system to let boats through. Not quite the engineering triumph of the Neptune Staircase or Falkirk Wheel, but a pretty impressive and complex aquatic structure. They could do with a model to show how it all works.

We had left early to Grantham to see the place where Isaac Newton went to school (it must have been easier in his day without differential calculus and Newtons laws to learn) and Maggie Thatcher’s handbag graces the museum as this was her home town – the Hellmouth as Labour know it.

Our gateway to Norfolk was at Kings Lynn with a seafront view down the Ouse to the Wash. Along the coast we saw the Wash with a huge wind farm complex in the middle of it (over the 5 days circumnavigating the south east of England we saw lots of wind farms and at no point did we see one blade turning). Along the north coast we reached Cromer, famous for crabs, and walked along the lovely pier there to find people catching crabs off the pier.

I still had my Cromer Crab sandwich though setting me up for the drive to Norwich (home of Sale of the Century) and visiting Edith Cavell’s monument and grave at the cathedral. A nurse shot by the dastardly bosch which brought the americans into the first world war and through the law of unintended consequence caused the deaths of millions of Europeans through the introduction of Spanish Flu – only called Spanish because it was the Spanish who reported it in their newspapers first.

Crossing the Norfolk Broads to Great Yarmouth we were too late to visit the Louis Tussauds House of Wax, reputedly the worst wax museum in the world where no-one looks like they are supposed to (although I was never sure about waxworks in the first place). Great Yarmouth is the epitomy of what an English seaside resort has collapsed into. So we left there quickly to head aouthward into Suffolk and reach the seaside town of Dunwich , which has collapsed literally into the sea at the rate of a metre per year. You can work out how long the village pub has by marking your steps from the beach – this was a town with 12 churches now reduced to one the others languished at the bottom of the ever proceeding sea.

With darkness approaching we raced to Aldeburgh and settled into the White Lion Inn for dinner and rest although the sea view did mean I was awoken at 5am by sunrise and the sound of fishermen preparing for the day. Aldeburgh is most jolly place and we walked to the Martello tower where I stripped off and swam in a welcoming and surprisingly warm North Sea. We drove to the Cottage in the Sky which is a disguised water tank used by the lovely windmill beside it (water pumped by the windmill was stored in the tank for the village of Thropeness) and then to see the delights of Sizewell B nucelar power station with a caravan park outside its front gate.

We raced to catch the boat to Orford Ness – this is a WW2 armaments training ground and is a very eerie spot. You get to walk around on tracks marked with red gravel and with warning signs that if you step off it you may well get blown up as minesweepers have only cleared either side of hte track. The walk to the lighthouse takes in various testing areas and Laboratories and the pagodas used to test detonators for the atomic bombs sit silent in the mist over the shingle. Well worth a visit if only to see the failed Cobra Mist radio mast project.

It was going to be a race for the last boat before lunch between a large group and us – but we managed to elbow our way to the front and left for the Jolly Sailor for a splendid luncheon, leaving a couple abandoned for the after lunch return trip. Such a selfish act did mean that we made the Sutton Hoo exhibition (most of which is in the British Museum apart from the odd trinket they grant the exhibition), still it was nice to wander around the grounds. A fast drive down to see Southend-on-sea, rivalling Great Yarmouth for tackiest seaside resort, was impressed by the lengthy pier and then it was over the Queen Elizabeth Bridge (which was a big surprise as I had been expecting the Dartford Tunnel) and into a huge traffic tailback as the M2 was closed due to a large accident.

We struggled for hours through Kent traffic whilst Stuart back at base was organising accommodation with great difficulty – but it turned out that the Kings Arms Inn at Sandwich was full but knew a place in Ash that had had a wedding cancelled and sure enough we got into a fabulous b&b in one of Kent’s protected buildings with a four poster bed and a welcoming Tracey.
Filled with Ash curry we settled down to watch a drama about paedophiles and slumbered well after a day of travel and exercise.

Kent is delightful, surprising because of its proximity to London and that it contains the least offensive vowel option (some people do find Immanuel Kant offensive). Using our B&B in Ash as a base we toured the coast via Sandwich and up to the Isle of Thanet (no longer an island due to silting) and the Ramsgate, Margate and Broadstairs seaside resorts.

Ramsgate looked past its best and Broadstairs was where Dickens wrote Bleak House, unimaginitevly in Bleak House, but was certainly a jewel of a seaside resort. Margate, however, has the unmissable Shell Grotto, a magical underground shell walled tunnel with a friendly chatty owner. Along the coast is Reculver where the dambusters tested their bouncing bomb and where Reculver Church acts as a navigational point on the coastline.

Hence to Herne Bay to pick up a rib for a trip to the Maunsell sea forts 6 miles off the coast. These forts were used to fire upon enemy aircraft coming in and consist of 6 towers upon four legs interconnected with gangways. They look like AT-ATs from Star Wars and as they emerge from the mist with a lonely buoy ringing a bell it was haunting. The rib had picked up the BBC Coast team the other day from another set of forts, the ones that weren;t going ot be demolished by the army. We also visited the Kentish Flats wind farm out at sea and stuck into the sand bank (they weren’t turning either).

With such a long journey feeling like a pilgrimage it was time to visit Canterbury and pass along the shopping malls and heavily branded streets under the gate (to the left of the Starbucks cafe) and gaze in awe at the splendour of the building and listen to celestial voices echoing around.
We stopped off for a pint at the Inn in the pretty village of Chartham, where I ended up with the beer tap at the bottom of my glass. The toilets there also told a tale of sexual deeds in the public toilets that the police were looking into… CCTV in the toilets whatever next?

Our goal the next day was to reach Brighton (which we failed to do from the Cornwall trip) so we headed off to Deal for the walk along the pier and the gaze at the round castle and down to Dover for a week walk along hte white cliffs whistling the Vera Lynn song to find that my phone had now latched onto the French Vodaphone service and I was now being charged for roaming. The channel looked empty perhaps a consequence of the tunnels success (although the tunnel had burst into flames after our visit).
even
Dover Castle was a great castle (and was battle ready in world war 2 for invasion). However, the main thing was the tunnels under the cliffs where the war operations were controlled and a great tour through them.

Samphire Hoe is built from the excavations form the tunnel and dedicated to the lives lost in its construction. Further along the coast is a Battle of Britain monument and a Chinook helicopter did a low pass when we were there – this was where it all happened.

I had planned to vivist Dungeness, not only for the shingle beach and lighthouse but to see Derek Jarman’s pad. This was the plan however I didnlt actually know which of hte ramshackle huts was Mr Jarmans. Kim came to the fore here as I had forced her to see a documentary years ago about his exile to Dungeness and she had remembered the name! Prospect Cottage was seen with its delightful sparse garden.

On the way to Brighton we passed the Lydd military range with its FISH training ground (Fighting in Someones House) with an eerie set of houses behind a large wall. A set of kite surfers impressively swooped around the shingle surf as the sun was sinking. Rye was lovely and we noted that we must return and spend a bit more time there. The battle of Hastings site was surprisingly interesting and we found that our audio tours were different, Kim laughing away at a comical track as I heard all about the doom and gloom of the battlefield.

The chalk Long Man was impressive and we also found the folly Sugar Loaf, made as a bet that Jack could see the spire of a church from his house – he couldnt so he made one to win! We walked along Beachy Head (famed for suicides) and saw the lighthouse that had been moved from the edge.

Finally we made Brighton at sundown with all the hotels advertising civil partnerships welcome. Our boutique hotel had various rooms (including Elvis and New York) but we had plumped for the Moroccan room (well it was still Ramadan). We walked along the pier and had noodles in the high wind sitting outside the disabled loo.

Brighton was a washout int he morning and we rescued a blown away large dumper from the pier – but the jobsworth still wouldn’t let us walk until much later when it opened (even after we had saved his dumper). The Brighton Pavilion was impressively bizarre and the shingle beach was a joy to wander on in the rain with the sound of surf. There was a tarot caravan on the pier with a list of Corporate Clients (I wonder if he told them anything about the credit crunch)

Returning North we stopped off at the Bressingham Steam Gardens and its Dads Army museum, the train journey was jolly around the garden but nothing prepared us for the higlight – the steam driven carousel. Kima nd I clambered on our horses and the carousel took off and it was ok, but hten the music got faster and jollier and hte horses were goig faster and it started to get quite exhilirating. ‘Gosh it is going rather fast’ said Kim and with increasing grins on our faces we thoroughly enjoyed the whole ride.
The combination of horizontal movement, fast vertical movement, breeze and jolly music seguing from jolly to very jolly from the central organ was just magical. Down a flint mine in a chalk area left us covered with white dust and knowing more about flint mining.

And so North, north, north and apart from me skewing across three lanes of the M1 to get to an exit the journey back was thankfully uneventful.

We have now covered most of the Scotland and England’s Coastline and what a joy it is too – so different in each part with fantastic geology and history on such a small and accessible island.

From Skye North by NorthWest to Gairloch via single track roads and lots of road works with fed up STOP/GO men and very fast cars trying to get home – yes you can get overtaking on single track roads at dusk….

The road opened out to normal A roads but I was unprepared for the race track that was the road to Gairloch – fantastic surface and long long stretch. For legal reasons I am not even going to type what I was doing or what other cars were there – fantastic scenery and a fantastic road. The destination was going to be Ullapool but darkness was descending and I wasn’t sure if the Loopallu festival was still on taking all accommodation for miles around so settled for the Old Inn at Gairloch. And what a fantastic resting spot that is – great seafood (I got the last mussels and great scallops with beetroot mash) then retired to the bar to help the best man of the wedding the next day with his speech.

The bar has fantastic beers and a few pints of blind piper and the highland barmaid was looking strangely attractive. She was a cracker – used to work for BT call center and told us all about the calls they get, had to turn the juke box off at 11 and had to grant no residents drinks (well one order was allowed if there was less then 20 residents in the bar!) The wedding group consisted of folk from Stornoway and I was amazed to hear about the religious hatred (many go to glasgow where it a similar situation allows them to blend in).

Breakfasted I took a walk along the windy shore and met folk who were heading near where I live so exchanged local tourist information and a couple where the chap had a car washing business – time just seems to extend in the Highlands, I noticed this on Barra as well – conversations last half an hour not a quick exchange people have time which is strange because there is so far to travel.

But I had to travel. I had to be in Helmsdale that evening so it was north past Poolewe and the Loch Ewe fom where the British ships sailed in convoy to relieve Russia with suplies and so many were sunk in arctic waters by U-boats. Gruinard Island is Anthrax island where our military unleashed anthrax on it to check its use as a chemical weapon, as a juxtaposition Gruinard Bay beach is fabulous – white, unspoiled and empty with a turquoise sea.

Ullapool is more than a port, it is set in magnificent mountains with a gorgeous sea setting. It has a great fish and chip shop and although I missed the festival I did hear that Echo and Bunneymen made a compete arse of themselves and the lead singer as eventually so rude and unpopular he was punched in a bar later. Entering the Highland Geology Park you are struck with the view of unspoilt mountains (yes no wind turbines) and a sense you are in an ancient part of Scotland. Sadly I had to cut this circumnavigation short and start to head over to the east coast and to Lairg.

The road to Lairg is long. I pulled over to let a white van with refrigeration top pass and got an indicator thanks. On the trip I came across him a couple of other times and the thanks escalated to a wave out the window. I took a side trip to The Falls of Shin – I kind of took it on a whim and after driving down a single track road for a few miles started to think of turning back, but doggedly pursued it for no good reason. I saw a car park for a couple of cars but there was no sign to the falls and then a bit further there was unexpectedly a huge car park and 5 star visitor centre with a waxwork statue of the owner of Harrods Mohammad Fayed. Like all waxworks it, of course, looked nothing like him.

I also didn’t expect much from the falls of shin but was curious as to why there was a huge visitor centre and a waxwork. The falls are small but roar away – nothing that I hadn’t seen before but then there was a shadow, and another… a huge salmon. The reason all this was there was there was the fantastic spectacle of salomon jumping the falls – it was an amazing sight. Although I wasn’t too sure what would happen when they faced the dam further upstream… driving back I passed hte wee white van again and the chap was out delivering fish this time and stop and waved with his large green gloves and I reciporacted with an enthusiatic wave out the window and beep of the horn.

And so the long drive up to Wick to see the seven gates at the harbour – an art project impressive sculpted gates from childrens drawings. But the real reason to visit Wick was to clamber down the Whaligoe Steps. These are hidden but now appear in the 500 best wild places book – you find hte telephone box at Ubster and turn down a wee road to a car park and there is a wee monument to a lady that used to maintain the steps and from there 365 steps down the cliffs. It was windy but not too exposed but at the bottom is a fantastic space with the wind playing pipes with the cliffs. This was where herring boats came in and the fish was salted and the women carried barrels of them up the 365 steps. This was the good old days. I had purchased a guide book at the top but the most unexpected thing was the chap coming down the steps with his dog I said ‘it is easy coming down’ in a passing politeness and then spent an hour speaking to him – he was one of the maintainers of the steps and his tales were fascinating. The boats winched in for tarring, the rocks with metal loops to tie the large boat in and the salting shed. Least of all that the damage to the steps is not erosion but vandalism by youngsters from Wick who threatened to kill the chap and had thrown parts of the steps down at him. We walked back up pausing to see the graffiti (ancient by the step builders) and the places where vandals had dislodged large stones previously used for the women to rest their barrels on. He showed me a photograph of the steps in 1940’s with the herring salting sheds all intact and the women all waiting with their barrels.

I left to pick Stuart up – he was in the bar of the Bridge Hotel finishing his mapping work. I had a drink at the bar served by the Iranian owner who was a Tomorrows World presenter. The plan was to head south and get somewhere for the night – Stuart was using the Scotland the Best guide (awful index that book has) and his phone and was busy negotiating with the best hotels in Inverness – look we will offer you XX pounds for two rooms and that is our budget you are not going to sell those rooms tonight are you – some didn’t go for it, the Golf View at Nairn did, so we set the sat nav to that and ended up in the disabled parking lot of the hotel. The hotel was roasting due to the pipes for the leiusre centre running through it – unbearably hot.

We set off the next day past RAF Kinloss to the Findhorn Foundation. Where the F**K are you taking me bleated Stuart the petroleum geologist – christ it is a bloody eco village!
Quick take a picture of the propane gas canisters on the caravans in the eco village. Eco village or not it did have some splendid architecture – wooden houses that you would want to live in. Everyone looked fairly unhappy though and generally unfriendly – not the happy hippies I used to know – perhaps their cannabis had run out?

From one extreme we edged along the coast road at Gardenstown a very religous town and made our way along a narrow road at the edge of the harbour with Stuart guiding the drop onto the ocean. From there to Pennan to see the landslides were cleared up bu thte pub was still closed. Southward to the great beach at Balmedie Bay and then to Stuart’s flat near Pittodrie football ground and lunch in a splendid pub. Sorted out his broadband with a bit of shopping and then to a flying visit to my mum and on the outside lane all the way home… the car took a well earned rest and got a new set of disk brakes as a treat.