Musings from Suffolk.

Woke this morning with bright sunlight penetrating through the bedroom window and a garden free from the ravages of frost. Not for me anymore the early morning winter training that I did as a younger man, when the cold meant little and would certainly not stop the Spartan in me. These days, the allure of a warm bed and duvet soon divert the mind to cups of tea and the Telegraph. But with sunshine and Spring the excuses come less easily and when one makes the effort, the reward of the endorphin buzz of a strenuous workout at least gives the impression of staving off Father Time for a few hours. Then to Norwich. The ancient City of Norwich was Anglo-Saxon and originally supposed to have been three separate settlements that joined together somewhere around the mid 7th century. Until the Norman Conquest, Norwich was one of the largest cities in England and it is a City I have come to have a deep affection for. To wander around Tombland, the Ancient Anglo Saxon market place, and Elm Hill is a constant delight for every turn seems to invoke the sense of history that I crave, with a strong sense of my Englishness, my culture, constantly reaffirmed. A feeling that this 'is mine'...my country that generations of my family have fought to build. Today I wandered up Princes Street, took short cuts through vaulted arches at Elm Hill and finally crossed Tombland and entered, through a high, Norman arch, into what is known as The Close. It's strange that a modern city like this can have a place of such tranquil beauty but as soon as you enter The Close the traffic noise seems to disappear and calmness descends. It's a large grassed area with benches scattered around and a meandering path that leads to the Cathedral. Statues of Nelson, a Norfolk man, and Wellington, definitely NOT a Norfolk man, and some modern works are placed at intervals. I entered the Cathedral where, some years ago, I watched Hamlet performed here, actually in the Cathedral itself, and memories of that were with me as I strolled along the Cloisters with the sound of the Boy's Choir with me, to emerge once again into the sunshine and sit on a bench and absorb the beauty of an English Spring day, with the trappings of my history around me. Don't let anyone dare tell me that we English don't exist. That all this is to be ethnically cleansed from history to suit the self serving Newspeakers. That Year Zero is now and is for the good...of who ?? I won't allow it. We won't allow it. The English are awakening and their voices will drown you out. It's ours and we will stop you. That's an English Promise !
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