East Head

Burnham Overy

After cleaning a part of the place that reflected the slow decline of the last years and which had more cobwebs than Miss Haversham's, and after finding the eleventh pair of unworn trousers, still with shop tags attached (I did say he was a bit obsessive) I decided to go for a long walk. It was such a spectacular day.

As the tide ebbed the red shanks were stalking the oozing waters at sluice mud. The geese were in good honking voice and the a skylark rose above us all and did its ethereal minstrel thing. I walked across to the harbour to see if the seal was there but no sign. The vastness of the beach was empty and with the cold easterly behind me I walked to Holkham.

As I walked I was remembering the time when the police dusted for fingerprints (do they still do that?) after a burglary at our family home when I was little. The thieves had stolen the wardrobe full of unopened Van Heusen shirts. It was a habit that went back a long way. Who knows what that was all about. More trips to the charity shop beckon.

It doesn't matter how many times I walk into the pinewoods at Holkham, I always feel a hush and sense of having stumbled into a timeless cathedral. As I emerged back onto the dunes there looked like a Battle of Britain re-enactment going on above me as I counted what I thought were at least a dozen red kites but it was in fact a mix of kites and buzzards, both of which seem to be increasing in numbers down here. As I headed back down the bank it occurred to me that I wouldn't like to be sat on by a Greylag goose. They really are huge close up.