Norfolk notes - Sheringham

Sheringham continues to get posher. This is the town that did the near impossible; in the sort of act of a hero overcoming a monster that one normally associates with Greek myth, Sheringham saw off Tesco and instead of getting a shop in the centre of their town that would bugger the economy of every surrounding shops forevermore, have decided to go with a Waitrose placed out of town. This protects the local economy because of its geographic placing, and also because no bugger can afford to shop there.

Having said that, I notice that Sainsbury's local has snuck onto the high street. Though if the one in Sheringham is anything like the one near me, deciding to price everything as if it had just been announced on telly that the apocalypse was imminent and now is the time to panic buy and hoard will ensure that the local shops keep going.

Sheringham has also connected to the rest of the world in rather a special way. Sheringham is home to the North Norfolk Railway, a railway run by enthusiasts that runs form Sheringham to Holt. This means that you can catch a steam train and ride in style for about twenty minutes, then turn round. Great fun and they do Santa specials, dinner specials and so on.


Essentially all any railway needs to make it great is to be steam powered and run by enthusiasts. And now, it's connected to the main line thanks to tracks that run across the main road. This is, without doubt, a great idea. More, it begs the question why more enthusiast run railroads are not connected to the national network, even those ones running little trains that chuff chuff you round parks or, in the case of nearby Wells-Next-The-Sea, from the town down to the beach. OK so there is the question of gauge to be considered but surely there has to be scope for improving the day of frequent rail travellers beyond measure by replacing their commuter service with a tiny tourist train where the carriages are like benches. One would turn up at one's destination covered in soot, bandy legged and terrified - but strangely exhilarated.

The town was busy, the good weather having brought out middle aged men who seem to think that having leathers that match the paint job on their motorbikes means that nobody will notice their paunch. Still managed to get a table at the pub on the seafront however and took on coffee to sustain us on the short walk back to the car where the picnic and more flask tea awaited.

Other, posher, sorts had gone for the pub lunch option and very nice it looked too. At the table next to us the obviously untrained visitors had left some of their chips (I know!) which attracted the attention of a jaunty little bird who hopped and frolicked on the table, pecking at the leftovers.


Amusing as it was to see a bird so apparently unafraid of humans, like some sort of Disney tramp bird scavenging leftovers, it did occur that while one bird hopping, tweeting and gobbling chips was interesting, a flock of the bloody things doing the same would have been a different proposition entirely. That's the things that one must never forget about nature; it outnumbers us.