Well it was not so bright; in fact cold damp fog hung heavily in the air.
I walked down Post Office Lane, past the old post office, now up for sale.
Next to it, the Old Bake House, also empty and cold.
I discovered a lane full of names.
A long line of bungalows, named like a multicultural city.
First the prosaic- 'River View', 'Sunny Side', and 'The Bungalow'.
Then, the slightly more useful, 'Bysteps', indicating my route up past the church.
Next the more fanciful, 'Pandora', 'Utopia' and 'Vespers'.
Finally the giveaway- 'Russlynn', Hey Russ, is Lynn in?
And Jaybee, across the lane. No, Jay, she be not in.
I crossed the bypass and down Monk's Lane.
The tarmac ran out and became a green sodden track, punctuated by a line of over hanging oak trees.
As I walked beneath the canopy, large droplets rained down on me.
These green clouds in an otherwise clear sky formed a localised weather event.
Then across a potato field, through a nettle bed and into the woods.
I guessed I was coming close to Mannington Hall when I approached an impenetrable wall of flowering rhododendron trees.
These towered upwards, like images from the Himalayas.
My route back passed the church in Itteringham with it's ruined nave,
Next to it, the '11 parishes' rectory, looking somewhat tired.
We prayed for Marion the vicar today at Baconsthorpe, one of her churches.
The return route followed the River Bure,
This river meets the Yar, and being a diminutive river, this is at Yarmouth, as apposed to Buremouth.
Some kind souls had laid old sleepers along much of the way,
I picked my way through the flag irises.
Through a hedge, round the back of the church, through more nettles, and home for bacon and eggs.
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