Norfolk notes - The Coast Hopper and other roadside advertising
The long ribbon of coastline that runs from Hunstanton in the West to Cromer in the East is well serviced by the busses that run back and forth along it, stopping at the villages, hamlets and occasionally just apparently hedges that dot the route.
There was, on this trip, ample opportunity to check out the front of the busses, usually when trying to squeeze round one at a coast road pinch point like Stiffkey, where one focusses very hard indeed upon the front of the bus currently just inches from your front bumper. Unusually for busses, there was not that much of an opportunity to check out the back of the vehicle, as the drivers subscribe to the 'foot down' school of motoring.
What I first took to be commercial advertising on the front of the bus, or even the name of the vehicle, was in fact tourist advertising. Just a couple of words and a sentence about some local attraction, personality or legend. The moment of realisation came when, after considering that Thomas Coke may well be a firm of Cromer Solicitors, it's unlikely that any such organisation might decide to call themselves 'Black Schuck' (the phantom dog of the fens). Also good to see devilish folklore making it's way onto public transport.
The coast road was actually a rich source of entertainment, and not just in terms of wildly swerving to avoid the twitchers that seemed to lurk in every hedge and thicket. Apart from walkers there are lots of things at the roadside, not just the roadkill that, depending on how 'successful' it have been in its attempts to cross, are near the centre of the road rather than at the side. No doubt some wag will compile a roadkill spotters book with different points depending on how exotic the creature concerned was, with bonus points for artistic impression or, to give it it's technical name, splash pattern.
As well as the roadside shops, there are roadside stalls. Just as in warm foreign parts with scooter hire every bend brings a little shrine with some flowers and a faded photograph of some bloke who thought that he could overtake on a blind corner on a road regularly used by lorries doing the run from the local cement works, so there are little stalls with fruit for sale. These are based on the honour system, you take a bag of apples and put twenty pee in the tin. You can tell the visitors to the area because they all first remark upon the refreshing honesty of the system and then start bleating about the lack of credit card payment facilities and loyalty card schemes at such roadside stalls.
It's not just fruit though. Every day on our way to Wells we drove past a sign advertising kittens for sale. I'm not sure how long kittens stay kittens, but we were there for two weeks and by the end of the holiday I was expecting to see the sign amended to 'cats for sale'. The sign showed quite a lot of optimism. This is dog owners' country, where one feels underdressed without at least one gun dog and a telltale bag of poo that marks you out as a responsible dog owner.
There was, on this trip, ample opportunity to check out the front of the busses, usually when trying to squeeze round one at a coast road pinch point like Stiffkey, where one focusses very hard indeed upon the front of the bus currently just inches from your front bumper. Unusually for busses, there was not that much of an opportunity to check out the back of the vehicle, as the drivers subscribe to the 'foot down' school of motoring.
What I first took to be commercial advertising on the front of the bus, or even the name of the vehicle, was in fact tourist advertising. Just a couple of words and a sentence about some local attraction, personality or legend. The moment of realisation came when, after considering that Thomas Coke may well be a firm of Cromer Solicitors, it's unlikely that any such organisation might decide to call themselves 'Black Schuck' (the phantom dog of the fens). Also good to see devilish folklore making it's way onto public transport.
The coast road was actually a rich source of entertainment, and not just in terms of wildly swerving to avoid the twitchers that seemed to lurk in every hedge and thicket. Apart from walkers there are lots of things at the roadside, not just the roadkill that, depending on how 'successful' it have been in its attempts to cross, are near the centre of the road rather than at the side. No doubt some wag will compile a roadkill spotters book with different points depending on how exotic the creature concerned was, with bonus points for artistic impression or, to give it it's technical name, splash pattern.
As well as the roadside shops, there are roadside stalls. Just as in warm foreign parts with scooter hire every bend brings a little shrine with some flowers and a faded photograph of some bloke who thought that he could overtake on a blind corner on a road regularly used by lorries doing the run from the local cement works, so there are little stalls with fruit for sale. These are based on the honour system, you take a bag of apples and put twenty pee in the tin. You can tell the visitors to the area because they all first remark upon the refreshing honesty of the system and then start bleating about the lack of credit card payment facilities and loyalty card schemes at such roadside stalls.
It's not just fruit though. Every day on our way to Wells we drove past a sign advertising kittens for sale. I'm not sure how long kittens stay kittens, but we were there for two weeks and by the end of the holiday I was expecting to see the sign amended to 'cats for sale'. The sign showed quite a lot of optimism. This is dog owners' country, where one feels underdressed without at least one gun dog and a telltale bag of poo that marks you out as a responsible dog owner.
Labels: Advertising, Black shuck, Holidays, Norfolk, Public transport, Stalls, Travel
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