Norfolk notes - Holt

Holt is a pretty Georgian town about ten minutes drive inland. It's got a vet, which was useful if you want to spend eighty quid on eye drops for your dog because the stupid hound decides to stick it's face in muddy puddles. It's got a nice car park where you can wait for the AA man because you have picked up a flat tyre on your rental and changing the tyre on one of these things is a job for the professionals. It's got what is probably the worst coffee shop in the world, and I'm staggered it's still in business. It's got some pretty shops, like the furniture shop with the resident greyhound, Basil, and the Christmas shop open all year round.

Its also got a proper gentleman's outfitter. The small shop is a proper Aladdin's cave of outdoor gear, everything from the sort of traditional tweed jackets that are hedge proof and probably bomb proof, to the latest Gore Tex anorak type thing that would see you safely up and down a Hymalaya, or if necessary to the pub, as occasion demands. Just looking at all that gear makes one want to tog up and go and slaughter wildlife.