Doubting Thomas was more perceptive than he knew:
B****r me boy. North Norfolk’s a going to be as posh as Southwold and Aldeburgh with the Londoners coming down for their country weekends. When do the artsy fartsy culture fests start? Poor old Alan Smethurst’ll be spinning in his grave.
No sooner said, than provided.
The Pert Young Piece does an early Saturday gymnasium session, and returns with the Saturday papers. Nice. Out of the Guardian‘s dinky plastic jacket falls that curious Guide — doubtless indispensable for couch potatoes, clubbers and so full of totally-pointless listings. Hence it goes ignored by Malcolm.
On this occasion, by chance it fell open alongside Malcolm’s coffee, at page 37, events (all headings are tastefully lower-case). And this:
Norfolk F00d & Drink Festival
As this annual East Anglian event approaches its end, there’s still plenty of culinary-based fun to be had. Forget talk of nostril-sizzling mustard, the highlights are a lot sweeter with the scone competion at the family-friendly Wroxham Barns and an open day at the Institute of Food Research, where future Ferran Adriàs and René Redzepis can find out how our bodies interact with food. It’s not all serious science though: there’s a disco with music inspired by food proteins (Soya sub-bass anyone?) and a giant inflatable colon to explore.
Malcolm freely admits he has never heard of Ferran Adrià and René Redzepi (though he assumes both of those were in the plural above, and included simply to test keyboard-knowledge of accented characters).
But … pause for wonder … “a giant inflatable colon to explore”?
Norfolk was never quite that perverse. But it would definitely have amused the Singing Postman.
As that Smethurst gem plays, the Lady in Malcolm’s Life opines:
“If that’s the Singing Postman, you seriously need help.”