Summer in the Norfolk Broads

You know when people talk about 1980 something, the year of the heatwave and you think, that’s great, but those don’t exist anymore, especially not in England. Summer 2016. Finally, I can refer to 2016 in 10 years time as the year of the heatwave too. Not one, but a succession of them, sparking BBC articles covering how best to get sleep in a heatwave, causing runways to melt and train tracks to be deemed too hot for use. For me, it meant being able to spend the whole day under the sun umbrella, sapphire blue skies with cotton candy clouds, and frying my phone if I accidentally left it in the sun too long.

I think when you’re so used to summers in this part of the world being a wash-out, you don’t take it for granted when decent weather blesses you and I made sure to make the most of it. 2016. Not just the year of the heatwave, but a summer to remember too. We managed to cram a lot in the four months, and I was reminded how important it is to explore your own backyard first before dismissing it in favour of more exotic destinations. Norfolk is a beautiful part of England; bucolic countryside, rolling hills of green and the petrol-grey sea washing on to pale sands. And summer shows the county at its best.

In June, the well-known Norfolk Show is held and for as long as I can remember I’ve been wanting to visit. This is the agricultural equivalent of Mardi Gras, a big party for farmers, show jumpers, rare-breed cattle owners; even the Royals normally drop by. It was interesting watching the showjumping- shiny coated horses and immaculately dressed riders cantering around the ring. The most fascinating were the rare-breed cattle. They were made to walk around, being shown to judges who would give prizes to the best animals. I never knew so many different kinds of cattle existed- from splodgy Frisian cows to fluffy Highland cattle, and some of the handlers were just primary school-age children. There was also horse and cart showing, rare-breed pigs and rescue ponies- plenty to see.

In July, Maya and I ticked off another summer must-do; our first music festival. Latitude is well-known in these parts, held each year in Southwold in the heart of Suffolk. This was the longest drive I’d done so far on my own, and other than getting a bit lost we zipped through the golden fields of Suffolk uneventfully. The festival was a slightly odd mix of hippie/old-people-trying-to-be-young/country fair. I wasn’t quite sure what to think, but the people-watching was interesting and we got to see the pink sheep (the flock that graze the grounds of the manor have their fleeces dyed pink for the occasion).

Just when we had seen enough disaster struck- we lost the car. We spent almost two hours trudging up and down the fields full of parked cars, not finding the little Mini anywhere. Just before a full hysterical breakdown we managed to ask some security guards and they explained there was yet another parking lot, my car must be there. Sure enough, it was. Lesson learned the (very) hard way- always make a note/ take a photo of where your car’s parked at these events.

In August, Maya and I had another new experience, well actually two; our first concert and first day at the Races. Being Dick Francis fans we were very eager to see an actual horse race and where better than in Newmarket, horse racing capital of England? Plus, Jess Glynn was performing as part of Newmarket Nights that runs throughout the summer. We set off again in the Mini, an even longer drive than Southwold ahead. It was a brilliant, balmy afternoon, the sun shining through the car, straining the eyes. Twenty minutes in and we got stuck in traffic. The radio informed me a bus was ablaze and the road was closed ahead. We frantically followed the masses through god-knows-where- towns managing to catch the last race of the evening, which happened to involve champion jockey Frankie Dettori and his ‘flying dismount’. It was still cool to get the racing atmosphere- to hear bookmakers holler the odds, the jockeys crouched low over their sweating thoroughbreds, a flurry of hooves and arms as they passed by. The girls were there in their too-tight dresses and too-high heels, the guys drinking champagne and splashing it on the sober (us).

Jess Glynn lit up the stage, we sang along, got squished by the crowd and then left, me stumbling through the fields in heels as the summer skies faded to violet and the sun was replaced with stars. We drove back, singing along to whatever crap songs the radio had for us, our own rave, better than anything the champagne throwers could plan. I managed to get us home in one piece. Prune gave us a look as we stepped inside as if it to say, you’ve been out a bit later than usual. I slept like a baby that night.

When dad visited, the four of us decided to rent a boat and explore the Northern Broads. Ever since we spent a week on the Southern Broads a few years ago, we’d fallen in love with being on the water. On a sunny summers day there’s nothing quite like it; the peaceful bobbing of ducks and swans, as you pass reeds whispering in the wind, sail boats and medieval churches, frozen in time. We sailed from Potter Heigham, famous for its too-low-to-pass-under bridge. I did some steering too, and we all enjoyed the gentle sunshine and the cool breeze.

The lack of rain meant Maya and I made like Tom Sawyer and painted the entire fence green and the house white. We took the dogs on long sunny walks. The hedgerows were full of blackberries, door mice scuttled through the wheat, blackbirds sang, copious amounts of peaches, cucumbers and strawberries were consumed. Prune and Suzi napped in the shade (after being reprimanded for lying in the sun), all the doors were left open and fans whirred throughout the house. 31 degrees said my phone one stifling afternoon and I started to wonder if I maybe had to start reading those BBC articles too. But when I sat outside in the evening, hearing the last bird song chorus for the day as twilight slipped in on the breeze, I knew it wouldn’t last.

Sure enough, four months of a heat-wavey summer passed by faster than should be allowed. Now its hard to believe as I pull on a second pair of gloves and my feet freeze on icy sidewalks that it was once too hot to wear anything but sport shorts and a tank-top. I know we can’t always have a heatwave, but summer will always come around, and it will be one to remember, whatever the weather.

Practical stuff:

In 2017, Latitude is being held on the 13-17th of July in Henham Hall in Southwold. We visited on the Friday, but lots of people camped there the whole weekend (no thanks). This year the Norfolk Show is on the 28th and 29th of June in the Norfolk Show Ground. Newmarket nights run throughout the summer months combining live music with horse racing. We bought VIP tickets but didn’t get any special treatment, so don’t bother! Tickets book up in advance, especially for the good stuff at Newmarket Nights. There are loads of places to rent day boats on the Broads. In Potter Heigham, we used Herbert Woods. This part of England is beautiful at other times of year too, I just tend to be a bit unfair on it since I live here. I’ll miss it though once I move!

Thanks to Maya for the photos and for helping me get to grips with Lightroom and the world of photo editing!