Hovis crackers make great frisbies

1 September 2006

The day before yesterday my brother, Lee, turned very old indeed. So, in order that he not forget (in his old age) just how old he was, we went up to Norfolk to visit him and thus I was able to parade my youth and vitality before him like the sprightly and delightful wench that I am.

Lee and his girfriend, Debbie, live in Norfolk, which is the round bit that sticks out to the right above London. We live in Kent, which is the pointy bit that sticks out to the right below London. I missed my calling as a cartographer, I really did. The last time we went up to see Lee and Debbie they were still living in Debbie’s house and were in the middle of decorating their new bungalow. The bungalow is now finished and looks very nice and Debbie’s house has been sold to a man with five German wives and three priests in a cupboard.

We’d been instructed to bring with us any stale bread we might have and took along the end of an old loaf, some old naan bread found at the bottom of the freezer and an unopened packet of Hovis crackers that were two years past their sell-by date. We were not told for whom we were providing these goods, it was evidently to be a surprise.

We had lunch at a little café in Downham Market, where Lee and Debbie were known by the staff and accordingly given a lot of lip and kept in their place while the refined guests from Kent were accorded the respect they deserved.

After we’d eaten, we drove around some more and Lee took us to Denver sluice, where he summoned a fleet of ducks from the opposite bank by quacking loudly until eventually they came over to ask him to stop. The sun was now low and hitting the water at such an angle as to render us all completely blind. Nonetheless, we unpacked our bread and fed the crazy birds, hurling the cracker discs with great panache into the middle of the scrum and leaving lumps of bread on the edge of the wooden platform so that the hissing swan could stretch out his neck and take them.

Then as people were trying to make their way back to the car, I saw some pretty evening light that required photographing with my pretty evening face in it. As Mum reports in her comment on the photo, I danced about trying to get the shot I wanted before finally enlisting her help. You’ll also note from the comments that a certain Elaine is going to hell, perhaps not realising that I do indeed still have my lower arms and that they’d be just the job for pushing her into the river.