Norfolk notes - Stretttttttttttttttching the holiday
Leave Hunstanton and, instead of driving home, decide day is too beautiful to waste and head BACK to Brancaster and the best wind in Norfolk.
Brancaster beach is where I first saw kite-surfers, chaps who have huge inflatable kite-wing sail things they use to power their surf boards as they hammer across the water - which is only a foot or so deep - handy when you fall off, all you have to do is stand up!.
When I first encountered them the kite-surfers were usually fortyish blokes with bald heads. Now there appear to be young couples as well and although it's hard to tell if the girlfriend introduced the boyfriend to the sport or vice versa, the single rule is that they all look great in wet-suits - the bastards!
There are lots of kite-surfers. The kites, arranged on the beach, look like a nomad village of colourful tents. Further up the beach, under many a twisting kite-sail, are the kite boarders and kite buggy types.
It's to this group that I yearn to belong. You don't need a wet-suit and so a blob of custard like me with what can only be described as spindly legs can do the sport. All you need is a board like a skateboard on steroids, a kite sail and a harness, presumably to stop a strong gust taking your kite off, still attached to your now dismembered arms.
Windseekers (Proprietor - Gandalf!) sells all the gear, one hundred and fifty quid buys you the board and the pads and helmet. The armour is telling, the beach has dunes but also pines and it's from one of these that I want my memorial bench made after I handly fell the tree itself by smacking into it at 150mph one day. Soon.
In the mean time though, I have Fat Andy's stunt kite to play with and, bourne aloft by the best wind in Norfolk, it flies like a dream. It crashes occasionally to and, despite the 'rip-stop' nylon that it's made of, by the time we come off the beach two hours later I notice that the stresses the thing is under have frayed it a little. Oops.
Trudge back to car, folding kite. It won't be the same flying it in a park, mainly because grass, unlike sand, is not soft enough to absorb impact. The worst that can happen on the beach is that the kite gets wet or brains a dog or its owner - in a park the days kiting is, I would imagine, brought to a conclusion with a splintery crash.
The wind is strong. It sings through the nylon strings, it makes the fabric ripple and flutter but the kite is great fun - especially as some novices nearby are having trouble getting their to stay up. They need patience, practice or Kiteagra.
Step off beach being passed by kite surfers and boarders walking onto the beach in brilliant October sunshine. Ward off depression by going to nearby hotel and having huge cream tea. Nothing brings a sense of well being quite like a warm scone piled high with jam and cream.
Brancaster beach is where I first saw kite-surfers, chaps who have huge inflatable kite-wing sail things they use to power their surf boards as they hammer across the water - which is only a foot or so deep - handy when you fall off, all you have to do is stand up!.
When I first encountered them the kite-surfers were usually fortyish blokes with bald heads. Now there appear to be young couples as well and although it's hard to tell if the girlfriend introduced the boyfriend to the sport or vice versa, the single rule is that they all look great in wet-suits - the bastards!
There are lots of kite-surfers. The kites, arranged on the beach, look like a nomad village of colourful tents. Further up the beach, under many a twisting kite-sail, are the kite boarders and kite buggy types.
It's to this group that I yearn to belong. You don't need a wet-suit and so a blob of custard like me with what can only be described as spindly legs can do the sport. All you need is a board like a skateboard on steroids, a kite sail and a harness, presumably to stop a strong gust taking your kite off, still attached to your now dismembered arms.
Windseekers (Proprietor - Gandalf!) sells all the gear, one hundred and fifty quid buys you the board and the pads and helmet. The armour is telling, the beach has dunes but also pines and it's from one of these that I want my memorial bench made after I handly fell the tree itself by smacking into it at 150mph one day. Soon.
In the mean time though, I have Fat Andy's stunt kite to play with and, bourne aloft by the best wind in Norfolk, it flies like a dream. It crashes occasionally to and, despite the 'rip-stop' nylon that it's made of, by the time we come off the beach two hours later I notice that the stresses the thing is under have frayed it a little. Oops.
Trudge back to car, folding kite. It won't be the same flying it in a park, mainly because grass, unlike sand, is not soft enough to absorb impact. The worst that can happen on the beach is that the kite gets wet or brains a dog or its owner - in a park the days kiting is, I would imagine, brought to a conclusion with a splintery crash.
The wind is strong. It sings through the nylon strings, it makes the fabric ripple and flutter but the kite is great fun - especially as some novices nearby are having trouble getting their to stay up. They need patience, practice or Kiteagra.
Step off beach being passed by kite surfers and boarders walking onto the beach in brilliant October sunshine. Ward off depression by going to nearby hotel and having huge cream tea. Nothing brings a sense of well being quite like a warm scone piled high with jam and cream.
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