Summer has Sprinted

Despite a drizzly welcome back to Norwich, today has been an utter gem of cheerfulness and sunny skies.

If we compare the St Miles picture from the day I left (24 April) with today's picture (which is technically cheating since it wasn't taken until about 17 minutes ago, therefore not aligning with the attempt for time consistency in photos taken between the hours of 7.30-11.00 ante meridien, but we won't go into that issue...), one is most aware of the striking difference in tree canopy.

When one is sleeping, or needing sleep, one is also aware that it is summer when there is daylight at 5.30am. I shall be sure and alert everyone when it is day at 4am again :)

There has also been a slight decrease in black bird song since April; the boys appear to have done all the romancing they have to do for the year and there are no dire territorial boundaries that must be maintained. Seagulls have now reclaimed the points of the tower for their unearthly shrieking (which reminds one so of Cardiff, the City of Seagulls).

Black birds, though, are extremely funny and there are many of them running and dipping and stabbing worms in the churchyard (along with tiny pert pied wagtails, woodpigeons, grey squirrels and blue tits). [Also at the moment, is the melodious sound of a child screaming blue murder -- slightly less intoxicating.]

The honeysuckle on the back stairs is about to burst forth, and there are these lovely pink and purple flowers hiding my recycle bins which Eamonn tells me, in a tone of disgust, are actually weeds. I refuse to allow them to be pulled up and murdered. (Please try to overlook the upstairs neighbor's attempt to artistically undermine Nature's beauty by piling her trash in a most slovenly manner in the rubbish area right outside my window -- The Elephant Princess annoys me ever so slightly.)

Despite Summer being here in full, and my having missed a month of Norwich excitement (including the Norwich and Norfolk Festival), this Friday was a normal event in that it was the First Friday Five! This exciting outing began in Trowse, which is to the South of the city and across a bridge that used to be a toll bridge apparently. As the only estrogen-infused person in attendance, I gleaned much espionage-worthy information relating to rugby; football (or as some people like to refer to it, 'grass-diving championships'); opinions on karaoke; the previous FFF; the wonders of parenting twins; and of course, trips to America!

The Crowne Pointe is in the heart of the village of Trowse Newton and is quite cute and clean (plus the landladies were very nice and their menu looks yummy). It was established in 1854, but I have no other fascinating information.

The White Horse Inn was apparently damaged by enemy action in 1942, but has managed to recover to such an extent that karaoke is Friday night. The die-hard CAMRA members were less than amused when I asked if this was a new addition to the agenda: CAMRA Karaoke.

And, this is just funny:

The Norfolk Chronicle of 17 May 1783 reported.

Fun! Fun! Fun!
Trowse, first Spring Meeting for Asses will be on Monday next, the 19th
Instant. A handsome Saddle and Bridle will be run for by Asses of all
Ages, the best of three Heats, from Trowse Toll Bar round the Direction-
post (standing between Bungay and Beccles Road) and back again.
To start at half past Six o' Clock in the Evening.
No crossing will be allowed.
Also a Smock will be run for by Fillies.
The Asses and Fillies to be entered at the WHITE HORSE, from half past
four till the Time of starting.
Amazing Sport is expected, as many capital Asses have been some
Time in training.
Vivant Rex et Regina.

After a perspiratory 20-minute walk uphill back into Norwich, the Asses and Filly arrived at The Rose. There is a really good selection of real ales and cyders here, but it didn't feel very cosy. The lights were too bright, people were too loud, and there were these two mooses on stools barricading off half the selection view.

A lack of photographic evidence from the last two stops has nothing to do with my state of mind (as half-pints do not affect you that quickly, esp. when you have been walking and all) and everything to do with a lack of successful angles to capture shots (also not wanting to inspire any shadily tattooed smokers in the ambient vicinity to attack me demanding privacy).

Around the corner, is The Freemason's Arms. This is okaaaay, but as there was wrestling on the t.v. and it was a little more bar-y, I wasn't overawed with desire to make it a regular destination.

However, I did like The Kings Arms (right across Hall Road), as it was cute, cosy and has a good selection of ales. It dates from 1824. Despite there being a noticeable amount of green and yellow in attire (it is fairly close to the football ground and therefore a local...), I shall look forward to going back :)

And so began another weekend! Yesterday morning, it was rainy at St. Clement's but most of the crew stopped in: Ronnie and Rev. Jack, as well as the stinking old nutter who tries to steal out of the collection pouch, whilst pretending to be a policeman. Tom was absent, but we have made a new friend, Peter, who has offered to come back and help!

The last Saturday I was at St. Clements (before yesterday) was the last time Liz and I hung out -- she is my cool friend who I recruited from Australia to come on exchange, and she left to go back home the day that I flew from the US... :(

We climbed the tower successfully (it was fun and scary and eerie and adventuresome all at the same time -- my knees were shaking!). The time we tried before, we didn't have a flashlight and were afraid of dead things, and then a twig fell on both of us about 10 feet up (while we were wedged into the VERY tight circle staircase) and freaked us both out, so we gave up.

It is my intention to have a picnic on the top of the tower this summer. Oh wait... it is here!

*******
And now, the dark chocolate digestives I finally got today are calling me (pant, pant!).

And I also must get busy with the charming project which Matthew (T, not P) has so industriously found for my nuptial knitting. I mean, it IS Yves...