EAT Day 8

We woke today in the comfort of our room, tired after a good sleep which was helped along by a (two) negroni nightcap(s) last night.

I had a hearty and delicious Shakshuka for breakfast with ample coffee which set me right up for a lazy 9am departure.

The day was immediately warm. We marched back to the sea on little cut-through lanes and footpaths. We were there in a couple of miles and found the trail. Frome here it was a good few miles of hard work pebble beach. We started out and the going was tough. Our big heavy packs constantly helping sink us in to the beach and driving our feet back on every step was calf burning. We made it a mile or so then noticed a detour, longer in distance but on solid ground, so likely quicker. We opted for that and made fairly quick work of it, we also gained height and so had a nice view of the sea.

We followed the cliff tops today- I didn’t know there were cliffs in Norfolk but there surely is.

We’d pushed past our usual first break and after a slow 9 miles we made it to the pretty grim town of Sheringham. It was rammed and hot. Eric needed a break and we needed lunch. In a panic and having faffed about for a short time trying to work out where would be the best bet, we dived into the nearest pub we saw, out of the crowds who all wanted themselves to be outside. Two large lime sodas and two delicious flat breads covered in stuff saw us right as rain. Eric had a lunch tray and a big drink followed by a light nap.

Refreshed now, we took to the hectic streets and crowded sea wall. Like any spot surrounded by amenities, you don’t have to travel far to loose the crowds. We headed for the beach and walked some way before realising we should be on the cliff tops. Back we went, back past the heroic Blue Tit ladies group fresh from their swim and back past all the people who remarked “isn’t it great that poodle carrying all his things” and “is she carrying all your stuff too?” And “isn’t he clever?” and “we’ve got a cocker poo”.

We mainly walked the cliff top path to Cromer up and over ‘Beeston Bump’ a whopping 63 metres above sea level. All thats left of what was once two molehill mounds after the glacial retreat during the last ice age. That was the ice age that turned the North Sea from land as it once was, into a sea. Mental.

Down and onto the beach now, Eric is obsessed with the beach. Once those little toes hit sand she’s a little puppy again spinning, bounding about and getting a sandy little nose as she ferrets about the place. She’d found a ball, and entertaining her with this is an excellent way to stop her from inserting herself into another family who might not want an extremely over confident poodle presuming it’s ok to join in.

In Cromer we stopped for coffee as the ice cream man closed minutes before we arrived, which pleased Snakes not. Eric had her protien bar and we all had a sit down. It was close to 4pm and we still had 6.5 miles to go The day had been slow going and we both had ‘glassfeet’.

The beach walk from Cromer was wild and felt similar to the Jurassic coast. The cliffs became enormous. The sun was still shining and Eric still was in beach ball mode.

We peeled off in the lovely village of Overstrand and went to the village shop for a tin of fish to supplement Eric’s dinner. While we were there we made the most of the tiny wines on offer too. We managed to bypass the pub, though Eric pulled to go into it, as well as pulling to go into the chip shop- and struck back out into the coast path and cliff tops. We meandered in and out between crop and drop on a windy section of trail, aiming for the distant church at Trimingham. Before spilling out into the church we passed a lovely and perfect woodland to camp in. This is usually a bad omen meaning we won’t get so lucky further along.

The back porch of the church provided a warm and peaceful dining room where Eric feasted on powder food rehydrated, topped with tomato mackerel with a sprinkling of her broccoli cheese topper. For us, spicy pasta arabiata with a full bodied Rioja.

We could easily have slept in this secluded and underused porch, but it was 5:30 and too early to stop.

We carried on through Trimingham and walked through fields to the very edge of Mundesley. Here, I had my eye on a pine Coppice just off the path, and or the disused railway right next to it. Those of you following the blog for some time will know snakes has all the passions of a 12 year old boy: dinosaurs, air museums, planes, trains, derelict buildings and disused railways. I figured it would be a dream come true for her to sleep on the tracks. But, it was not to be so, the railway was overgrown and full of brambles but she was eleated to see it nonetheless.

Plan B then, was the coppice which was right next to the farm building which likely owned it – we hopped the gate and stealth walked the track to the coppice – it was ideal, save for the bird trapping, dodgy dealing, human murdering, hills have eyes type paraphernalia scattered about the place which we both felt uncomfortable with. Back to the gate and over the top, back up the road to the path and through the caravan park to a water tap and to touch base.

Why are all static caravan / holiday parks the same god awful soulless beige places?

The cliff walk ahead was multiple back to back holiday parks- chances of pitching looked bleak, the campsite listed on Google in Mundesley was, we think, in reality a chalet farm. It was a good few miles out the other side and even after that it looked fairly difficult to pitch. We popped out onto the coast road and I peered over the edge – lo’ and behold a perfect flat ledge was beneath which looked like it was a known spot for campers.

We had to erect a free sanding pitch, and rain was forecast, so Snakes was sent to the beach below to collect anchoring stones. A sturdy pitch with the best view and sound affects was up in a thrice – we all slept soundly

20 miles on the day