Life in the Mustard Pot

This is our home for the next three days.

The Mustard Pot is a folly in the grounds of Felbrigg Hall which is built on one of the few high areas of land at the edge of the flat and marshy fens. It has two bedrooms, one of which is at the top of the octagonal tower. We woke to find pheasants, robins and squirrels in the garden.

Jet lag is still biting a bit, so we took it easy in the morning and then walked down to the Hall for morning tea in the cafe followed by a walk through the woods surrounding the Hall.



We only got very slightly lost and enjoyed the misty views across to the parish church and across the green farmlands.

In the afternoon we drove the short distance to Cromer, a seaside resort which had its heyday in the Edwardian era and consequenty has some wonderful buildings and a very impressive pier with a theatre and life boat station at the end. If you look carefully at the next photo, you can see the ramp which launches the life boats into the North sea.

In the evening, we went for an exciting walk through the woods to the Roman Fort Inn for dinner. At least that was the plan. It turns out that diagramatic Manor maps intended to help elderly visitors exercise their dogs are not terribly good for guiding intrepid Australians by torchlight. Especilly when you leave the maps at home. We heard lots of owls and found lots of mud and brambles. We kept our heads and eventually made it out on to the right road, only to discover that our plan to stoll along the roadside was prevented by the lack of a verge. This is an unexpected feature of English roads - you have the tarmacked lane and then either a wall of trees, a fence or a hedgerow. No gutters and no verges. It makes driving exciting and walking nearly impossible. Nearly, because Robert did manage to get back to the cottage and return with the car. Dinner in the pub was lovely and very traditional - steak and kidney pud for Robert and pheasant for Helen (pizza for Thomas).