Friends in the north

As has always seemed to have been the way in my life, plans carefully constructed after much thought and deliberation, are frequently subject to late and radical change. Prompted by the need to ensure the safe delivery of two pictures to the far north of Scotland, an intricate programme of business - and just a wee bit of pleasure - was on the cards for these last few days of September,

Just as everything was more or less in place, a single phonecall resulted in a fairly fundamental change of plans. We still headed north, but stopped short at Newcastle to have dinner with author, academic and probably my oldest friend, Professor Andrew Ballantyne. Not having been into the city for many years it was great to get a feel for how it now is, eating and sleeping in Jesmond, just north of the city centre. By all appearances this is where cool people - and wealthy students - hang out. Great houses in very attractive streets, sprinkled with an ample supply of bistro's, cafes and cool shops. Having been watered and fed by Andrew in some considerable style, it was back to earth with a bit of a bump the following morning with a brief visit to the Gateshead Millennium Bridge and the Baltic Contemporary Arts Centre, neither of which were in existence when I last visited!

The bridge is simply stunning, but I have to say the Baltic and its surroundings - or lack of them - didn't really do it for me. These waterside venues really do need people and activity, both of which were sadly lacking on this occasion. Couldn't help feeling I would become very withdrawn very quickly if I was one of the gallery attendants there - but maybe it was just a bad day.

Having no need to head for Edinburgh and beyond, two hours later we were in the soft south or West Yorkshire as it likes to be known. Filling another gap in my cultural experience, Salts Mill in Shipley couldn't have provided a greater contrast with the Baltic. Another conversion and also housing contemporary art - in this case the Hockney collection.

This one was buzzing with life. Art, colour, activity, food, drink - just fantastic and on the same day that not much more than a hundred miles away it all felt just a bit sad. Not just the Hockneys and not just hanging on the walls but percolating into the life of the place.

Whoever masterminds this should be very, very pleased with what they have achieved.

The sun was shining and Yorkshire was looking as good as it ever gets, and it really was quite easy to get carried away.  And it's not simply populist. On the top floor - or rather above the top floor - there is currently a fascinating exhibition 'Cloth and Memory' - which is normally the kind of thing I avoid. In what was once the largest industrial space in the world is a collection of intriguing and fascinating installations inspired by the activity that this building used to house. Anywhere else it might not have worked; here it most definitely does.

Heading on into the deep south - Sheffield - culture was replaced by more food with, this time, family. Overnight in the slightly unreal if very comfortable world of a city-centre Premier Inn and away again, this time to the cloistered world of Repton School, not for educational reasons but to collect a few pieces by one of my favourite potters, John Wheeldon. As with a number of others who show with us, I first became aware of John's raku work through the good offices of Richard Godfrey. John is currently developing a new range of domestic work so, of course, we had to test this in use, with a coffee while we talked. It was fantastic to hear from John that Richard is making real progress in his recovery and is not only making again but has been out on his travels. On John's advice we took one further small diversion into the crypt of Repton Church to view the Saxon columns in the crypt. Extraordinary where gallery life takes one.

To round off this social whirlwind, we headed first to Northamptonshire for more food and friends and finally back to my roots in Warwickshire. Walking along the canal and then the banks of the Avon into the heart of Warwick was a timely reminder of just how good England can be at this time of year.

The days grow short when you reach September

The natural shortening of the daylight hours seems to have come suddenly this year. Of course this can't be so, but the noticeable fall in temperature has reinforced the feeling that autumn is upon us. Haven't seen any geese flying in yet but I imagine they're not far away.

Down at the Staithe this sense of change has been reinforced by the grass cutting on the banks. Gone are the long grasses and dead heads of late summer, to be replaced by a rather austere shorn look.  Coupled with chilly winds and some rain it all feels very different to those balmy late summer days - all of two weeks ago.

However, back in the garden, whilst summer is not quite hanging on, autumn has an altogether warmer look with probably more late colour and growth than in the last few years. Whether  this is a consequence of the extended and cold spring, I'm not quite sure - but it looks good.

Whichever way you view these things, good, bad, happy or sad, there's no denying most of us quite like getting back into our routine, whatever that may be.  In the gallery as ever the number of visitors remains much as the summer months. This comes as a surprise to many when you tell them, but the difference is who they are and the very noticeable difference in style and demeanour.  In the holiday months of July and August most of us are focussed on our families and visiting galleries is probably not top of the agenda.  Come September that all changes and most visitors have got time to stand and stare and really look, free of family pressures and distractions. 

And of course, Norfolk is emptier, calmer and back to normal.

Discretion in all things

My comment at the end of Food for thought sparked (inevitably) further speculation as to who and what? As it's not happening it's irrelevant but by strange coincidence a similar situation where discretion again won the day occurred this week.

A visit – not by me – to one of the current hot spots of the eating world of North Norfolk had not come up to expectations and there was a flurry of understandable curiousity to know more.  As I have remarked before, in the food game you are at the mercy of your last customer. When – as many local places do – venues enjoy favourable reviews in the national press, there are plenty out there who it seems are very happy to indulge in a feeding frenzy on any failing, perceived or genuine.

When you look back at how both choice and standards have improved here over the last 10 years, we really have little to complain about. Yes there is the odd one who gets carried away and gets greedy or takes their eye off what they are about, but these are very few and far between, and in all cases this can easily be picked up, not through review sites, but by just looking.  If local customers have abandoned ship maybe it's time to look around – but don't give up on anywhere simply because you've had a less than perfect experience.

Coming back to where we started, the justifiably disappointed customer commendably stuck to his guns and declined to identify the venue.  They in their turn were I am sure aware of what had gone on and unless I'm much mistaken will be focussing anew on what they're about.

On a personal note, I made a purchase at a local market earlier this year which back at home I realised was past the date indicated on it. Needless to say it was delicious and I decided there was no call to make any fuss about this.  Some weeks later at another venue I made another purchase from, I thought, the same supplier and at that point mentioned what had happened. They were suitably aghast - and so was I when I later realised I was talking to the wrong person.

Food for thought

Having opened late a couple of weeks ago in order to visit the Craft Fair again after 5 years off, I thought I would do the same this morning and pay Holkham a much delayed visit. It's the North Norfolk Food Festival, you understand.

Growing up not far from Shakespeare's birthplace, we hardly ever visited Stratford - and it's a bit like that with Holkham. I think the last time was to go round the Park with the Deer Keeper for a piece in North Norfolk Living. Suffice to say, the park looked so good first thing this morning that I now can't understand why I don't go more often.

Going early meant no queues to get in! Without going completely over the top, the Festival is a bit like going to a gentle summer party with every foody delight and temptation conceivable.

But what it did bring home is just what a fantastic range of makers,  growers and suppliers we have round about.  Even better is the opportunity to put faces to names and meet some of the people who produce the delights that I try not to eat too much of! Particularly good to meet David and Julie from Perfick Pork. Not only do they supply the key ingredient for Sarah at Brays Cottage but also Ben Handley at The Duck Inn at Stanhoe. The pork belly at The Duck last night was just wonderful.

As ever with these events, you find out things - in this case, a categorical denial from the horse's mouth so to speak regarding a widely rumoured change of ownership of one of the best known local businesses. So now I know; never believe these things unless it's already happened.

And ...... relax!

Even though August still has nearly a week to run, change is in the air. Even between yesterday - the last Bank Holiday of the season - and today, the change is tangible. You can almost hear the North Norfolk coast relaxing.

From an unpropitious start, the last 7 to 8 weeks have seemed like one of the best summers people can remember. Maybe it was because of the long cold spring that expectations were lowered. Indeed it changed almost from the moment that the official forecasts pronounced that it was not going to get any better and that we needed to get used to it, with summers likely to be disappointing for the next few years.

In reality it probably hasn't been that remarkable but the surprise of reasonably consistent 'summer' weather has also engendered a positive feeling about just how good life can be.  Annual events which over the last few seasons have started to seem a little routine took on a new shine. A bit more fizz and sparkle. The Burnham Craft Fair - a key event right at heart of the North Norfolk summer - not only felt fantastic but did great business and seemed to avoid some of the stresses and tensions associated with the busiest day of the year.  Watersports Day at Overy which in recent years was increasingly under threat from insurers and the Health & Safety ethos was back in its stride, blessed with just the right weather and fantastic support from local people. Reassuringly good.

On the cultural front the North Norfolk Music Festival is in the middle of an amazing programme with events sold out even when they're competing with fine summer's evenings. On one of the very few damp days, Jools Holland worked his magic at Holkham last Saturday and there is still the Food Fair to come.

And close to home, footfall and sales in the gallery are up. And that was before the opening of Gerard Stamp's latest exhibition with us.  Given the last few weeks I suppose it is not really a surprise that his unique evocations of the marshes, creeks and coast around Overy have been so well received and sold so quickly.  It is a modest exhibition in terms of number of works, but definitely worth seeing.

As somebody remarked at the weekend it feels like time for a rest.  In fact it's not really a rest but a change of pace and style that kicks in now.  More space, more serenity and eventually fewer events and activities. But this is probably how most of us who live and work here like it. Relaxed.

Out of step

My recent musings on the significance of the River Stiffkey prompted the kind of instant multi-directional discussion that has only come with the maturing of social media - in this case Twitter - and its wider use and acceptance.

A number of points emerged. Firstly no-one actually disputed what I was saying. Secondly it seems there is a view that the sea-fret I thought was a transient and ephemeral manifestation of the divide is a reflection of a more significant  block to the transference of weather across Norfolk. Thirdly, there don't appear to be any ley-lines hereabouts!

However and as ever, not to be outdone, Norfolk instantly provided its own alternative, transforming this possible short-coming into a highly distinct and indeed superior version, the Pie-line.  Norfolk never fails to surprise, never more so than here where, within seconds, what had initially been put forward as a slightly amusing alternative designed to appeal to the lovers of the Norfolk Pork Pie, was transformed into an ancient way, the Pork Pie Road, from Beccles to Hindolveston. And just in case there was any doubt about its provenance, this it transpired had been featured in The Independent no less, some 3 years past in an article discussing Norwich's location in much the same way my thoughts had rambled over north-west Norfolk.

Now whether the absence of the inferior and common ley-lines has anything to do with it I do not know but going back to the weather, not only has this week lent weight to the blocking effect of the Stiffkey, but it has also confirmed the difference between us and the rest of the country. Monday night into Tuesday morning saw spectacular storms. "The most lightning and rain across the country since records began"  Maybe not but you know what they say. And where did they stop their easterly advance? You know the answer but just in case - half an inch of rain and electrical storms in Lynn, Brancaster and Burnham; Hindolveston? - beyond the Stiffkey and the source of the Pork Pie Road (in more ways than one) - none. And none further east. Even more strangely, whilst the storms further afield left slightly cooler air, here in west Norfolk it has been hotter and more humid than before. Do different? Yes, wherever and whenever possible - but it's actually because the world here just is different to that strange standardised one beyond.

The Great Divide

The sun shone in Burnham on Friday last, as it has done for much of the last week. At 7.30am it was shining from a clear blue sky, as it was in Walsingham and as it was at Thursford and Sharrington. But it wasn't at Letheringsett, or Glandford, or Wiveton. Neither was it in Blakeney, Morston or Stiffkey. Actually it was in Stiffkey but only just.

So where is all this leading?  I have often held that Norfolk has an invisible divide between east and west. Not an Iron Curtain or even a net curtain, but certainly something changes. On Friday it was made visible in the weather.

So what is it? Let's put it this way, if you live in Norwich, Cromer and Sheringham are on the radar and you will visit them and indeed Blickling, Felbrigg and Holt.  You may also visit Blakeney.  A bit further and you feel uneasy. Morston? maybe. Wells? unlikely. Fakenham? very unlikely. It just doesn't feel like home. Conversely if you live in Wells, Brancaster of Fakenham do you go to Norwich? Hardly ever; maybe for the football or John Lewis. You're not comfy in Holt and why go to Cromer?

So just where is the line? Starting at the coast I would put it between Stiffkey and Morston. Coming inland somewhere between Warham and Binham. Deeper still, between Fakenham and Melton Constable. And then it gets confused by the Fakenham to Norwich road which surely is the boundary between North Norfolk and the county's heartland.

And then I realised. It's the River Stiffkey, one of Norfolk's unsung heroes.  Largely ignored and pretty well unknown apart from those who live along it, the Stiffkey is Norfolk's Great Divide. More powerful than it appears, less transient than Friday's sea fret, it is the physical representation of an unconscious but deeply felt change in character and atmosphere. A change in the feel of the place.