Summer Hols

I made a mistake and booked the wrong hotel. "Where are you staying?" asked Judy when I told her we were heading to Blakeney to catch the Indian summer I was sure we were due just as soon as the schools went back. I told her the Blakeney Manor Hotel, when her eyebrows shot up and she said "Oh we never stay there. We prefer the Blakeney Hotel." I stopped with my fork halfway to my mouth, which stayed open. "What?" I asked, perplexed. "Isn't the Manor the lovely one by the quay?" Well, it turned out I'd misremembered which one I'd stayed at a few times before, but when I tried to rectify the situation not only did the right hotel have no rooms but it didn't take dogs. That settled it then. We were stuck with the Manor.

Manor Hotel, Blakeney

You can tell a hotel by its reception staff first, and then by its food. The former were well meaning but shabby, the latter merely shabby. We weren't allowed in the restaurant because of Hugo, so we sat in the uninviting bar eating a lacklustre, poorly-cooked meal that showed no sign of any professional input. Some people might get upset under these circumstances - dry sea bass on soggy stir-fried veggies, and raw salmon steak in a creamy sauce - but we saw the funny side and laughed at everything. Even the little tubs of Golden Shred marmalade for breakfast had us in stitches. Who knew they even made these any more? The major plus was the bedroom, and Hugo quickly found a corner for his bed and settled in.

On the way up to the coast we hit the jackpot when lunchtime was fast approaching and we spotted a sign to a Heritage Village. As soon as we drove up beside the large green with its pretty estate houses and gardens I knew it had been the setting for The Go-Between. Here Julie Christie was discovered in old age by Leo as he tried to make sense of what had happened during that golden summer he spent with his schoolfriend before war changed everything. And I was right! One of my favourite films, and books of course. The village has not been added to for over a hundred years, and all the buildings have been beautifully preserved. We found lunch in an old tea shop, then visited the massive church where an organist was practising. This church served all of 100 people, so its size must have been more to do with prestige than necessity. Those were the days. And still are for some.

Heydon Village

Julie Christie with her dog

  
Today we walked in the grounds of Holkham Hall after a visit to the beach. On the sands Hugo encountered that rare thing, a dog who could outrun him, and the pair of them raced around for several minutes, the lurcher always a few feet ahead of the astonished Hugo. It was poetry in motion, and lots of people watched the speed of them, and the beauty of the boy. He gave up first, the lurcher obviously relieved at the reprieve, and came back to walk quietly and sedately by our sides. He wasn't especially exhausted, so I think he was humiliated to find himself at a disadvantage for the first time in the speed stakes. Since then he has virtually ignored every dog we have passed. Oh Hugo, king of the racetrack, you had your nose put out of joint today. The forecast had been for rain, but apart from  two short-lived showers we had sunshine all day. Lunch at the Hoste Arms in Burnham Market was a delightful treat.

I love this part of the world. I first came on my own in 1971 when I was 23, and stayed in this same hotel which I remember as comfortable and traditional. I was thrilled by the village, the creeks filled with small boats and families playing in the sushine, and the long walks along the Peddars Way. I returned many times but not for some years, and nothing has changed except the hotel. I'm sure there was proper marmalade in 1971.