On the Bank

Most days I walk along the bank - or should that be The Bank - at Overy.  For the uninitiated this is the earth bank constructed to stop the North Sea having its wicked way with the grazing land between the coast road and the Saltmarsh and thus to protect the soft underbelly of North Norfolk.

On the face of it, it's not that remarkable. It's level, there isn't much variety in the view or the vegetation, and there aren't many opportunities to vary your route. What is remarkable is the light and the tidal variations. Not a day goes past that I don't bless the good fortune that allows me to live, work and walk here.

To start with I used to take a camera with me but more recently I have realised that the technology in my phone is more than capable of capturing the wonder of my daily perambulations. As some will know many of these images find their way onto the Overy Harbour Trust Facebook page, where apparently they are viewed by - to me anyway - astounding numbers of people. Last week nearly 600 people apparently looked at this photo. Who are these people and how do they come to be interested in Overy? I shall never know.

It's a sunset and it's a good sky, but it's far from unique. It happens most days. As I noted earlier in the year there is something about the location that seems to ensure even on the most unlikely of days something wonderful happens to the light or the weather.  And there has been quite a bit of that over the last ten days or so.

St.Jude was a bit of a damp squib in this bit of Norfolk at least. But even before that, my walks have varied from calm warm evenings that would have been unremarkable in June, to cold, very wet and very windy, but all none the worse for it. As has often been said, there isn't bad weather, just the wrong clothes.

Returning to St.Jude - who I feel would benefit from a new agent - in this little corner of Norfolk he turned out to be briefly torrential, with an inch or so of rain in a couple of hours (according to my rain gauge)  and was accompanied by squally winds and very rapid changes of wind direction and pressure. But it is Norfolk, it is on the coast and it is late October. And as - accurately - predicted it mostly happened in little more than 3 hours. By sunset we were back to reassuringly calm and beautiful.

The Island

Before we opened the gallery in Burnham, I used to occasionally visit to collect cards and books from the late lamented Saltwater Gallery.  I never met Harry Cory Wright but formed a strong image  of him in my mind's eye.  An aged wiry individual with a trim beard and eccentric behaviour using a huge antique plate camera. Sometime soon after we opened I found myself talking to this young man who jogged past the door most mornings. Ten years younger than me and (nearly) clean shaven. This apparently was Harry.

Over the next 6 years, our paths have continued to cross and our conversations have rambled. Saltwater closed and Smokesilver opened and then closed. At some point, halfway down Front Street I met Felicity Binyon. To be correct, I met her again, as she had shown her work with us in Norwich when we first started.  The only thing was that this time it emerged that she was in Burnham by reason of being Harry's mother-in-law.

Sometime later Overy Staithe entered my life. Initially as the place where Burnham flirted with the sea, but then as somewhere friends lived and I walked and I looked and I wondered. Working with the Harbour Trust and the Boathouse threw more light on Harry's place in all this. And then two summers ago, Harry and Felicity shared a show of their work at home in the middle of Burnham.

For the first time I saw not his all-seeing large format photographic masterworks but minimal monochrome drawings - or were they paintings?

Whatever they were, they were clearly very Overy. The Island, Gun Hill, the marsh, the creek - all reduced to their bare essentials.  They struck not just a chord, but one which was in harmony with the place and how I saw it. And clearly not just for me judging by the reaction.

Two years on and the further development or distillation of these minimal ideas has produced Harry's exhibition with us - The Island. Some people don't get it and are at a loss as to what it's about. Most do - and many who came along to see it at the opening have returned to look again and again.  Which is a bit like Overy itself.

Outside the bubble

It's very easy to take root in this part of the world. Even though my friends and visitors come from and travel to all points of the compass I seem to spend much of life in and around the village. Just occasionally I break out and there's no denying it does change the perspective.

In just 48 hours last week I managed to take in a formal dinner in the depths of Windsor Great Park, pub lunch with my son Sam in Bristol, delivery of paintings to the far west of Devon, a curry with Gerard Stamp - no surprise there other than we were in Exeter for a change - and dinner in rather more historic surroundings with the Dean of Exeter!

By way of explanation, the formal dinner was at a construction conference and took me back to my previous existence as an architect. It all seemed a long time ago and a long way from my life today. Windsor Park did however look very good on a classic autumn morning, all misty and mellow. Lunch in Bristol was pre-planned to mark his 21 years on the planet, but my further travels were prompted by Sam who, with pleasing concern for his aged father, suggested a day off seeing friends would do me good.

Exeter is the venue of our next exhibition of Gerard's work, so it was not chance that found us eating and drinking together within sight of the Cathedral. With the longest uninterrupted vaulted ceiling in the world and now with the West End cleared of scaffolding it's looking very good and worthy of Gerard's attention.

With an eye to economy, I contrived to use a visit to Richard Godfrey's studio as a staging post in the process of getting the pictures to their final destination in the South Hams.  Fantastic to see just how well Richard is doing and to find him hard at work on his new work.  Without giving too much away to those who know the range of his work we have sold over the last ten years, the new work has a real connection with this but at the same time is wonderfully different. Hopefully we should have some here in Norfolk before too long.  In the meantime, if you want or need any or more of his earlier work, you need to be quick.  There won't be anymore and there's not much left.

At Richard's suggestion I then called in to see another Devon potter, Tim Andrews, who each year hosts an exhibition of ceramics by a number of his friends.  Some of these - including Richard and Francoise Dufayard - already show with us in Burnham, and hopefully Tim can be persuaded to join them.

Combined with a small number of pints of Otter and glasses of Reserve du Reverend (really!), Sam's advice proved sound and life seemed quite a bit better.  On my return to Burnham, Harry Cory Wright appeared to deliver the work for his exhibition, having also just got back from a couple of days away. In his case in Marrakesh. I know my place!

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.