Cycle Norfolk - 3

Not much cycling today, as we were homeward bound. We had a happy overnight stay with good friends, still living in the house where we got engaged 38 years ago. They don't look much older, whereas...

The house has grounds all round, including an enormous walled garden, now mostly down to grass (and sprouting mushrooms when we inspected it this morning). At £20 a go in petrol alone, you can tell there's a lot of mowing. We share their dilemma of knowing when to move, and where to. Who wants our big brown furniture? And as for pictures...

You can't drive that way, but the cycle path back into Norwich runs attractively along the West bank of the Yare - once past an enormous sewage farm. There was time to visit St Peter Mancroft, and collect another sundial photograph, the "hand" being St Peter's keys in this instance. What a church! It stands alone, a stone building amongst the city's many other churches, which are flint. From the West end, you are dazzled both by the impression of light and by the gold of Seddon's reredos beneath the East window - the central figure of which is Comper's seated, beardless Christ, with something of the look of a Greek God about him.

In London, we ran into rain again. Before Liverpool Street, we passed the Olympic stadium etc., seen for the first time. Then in amongst the forest of skyscrapers which make Wren's steeples look as if they have strayed from a model village.

Cycle Norfolk - 2

Only the faintest drop of rain today - more or less perfect for cycling. We set off at 10ish, the sun shining, bidding our hostess a cheery Goodbye. Within a mile, however, ping went my back tyre. (The nearest village was Rougham, so what should I expect?) Back like bad pennies we gloomily walked to our friend's house: she, however, quickly dug out an old bike rack and in two ticks off we all set in her car to the Fakenham cycle shop. Amazing. ("T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...")

From Fakenham, it's a doddle to where we are staying this evening - 40 miles South-East in Kirby Bedon. Both places are on Route 1 of Sustrans' marvellous National Cycle Network: I still have the old route map from my 2011 ride to Ampleforth, up through Lincolnshire. The difference between route levels is barely ever more than 40 metres: as far as Norwich, we more or less followed the line of the River Wensum.

Sitting outside Great Ryburgh Post Office, drinking coffee, we inhaled the scent of hops being malted. "Lovely day for bicycling: you must visit St Andrew's and see our stained glass," we were urged. Not Wailes' best, we thought, having followed this suggestion. But the screens and Ninian Comper's other extensive work in the church were well worth pausing to admire. A hint of late Strawberry Hill Gothic about them.

The next stop was to photograph a signpost indicating "Gateley" - off our route unfortunately: the parish name is apparently old English and translates as 'clearing where goats are kept'. No link, I think, with my grandfather Gateley's family, his great-grandfather, who kept a pub, hailing from Ireland (Co. Roscommon). On past the imposing gates of Sennowe Hall and to a bridge across the Wensum by an equally imposing mill - a beautiful spot, but only one among many today.

From near Guestwick, the path joins the Marriott's Way, a good surface, and so we progressed with no danger from four-wheeled vehicles as far as Norwich, except through picturesque Reepham. Time ran out for us to visit "Masterpieces: Art and East Anglia" at UEA's Sainsbury Centre, let alone any of Norwich's churches, but the final lap was shorter than I had expected so there was time for a hot bath before dinner.

My photograph shows an elegant lady, posted as sentinel at allotments alongside the cycle path.

Cycle Norfolk

We are staying in rural Norfolk, having come here by train and bike today. There was over an hour between our supposed arrival into Paddington and our departure from King's Cross, ample time, I thought, to bike between the two along the Regent Canal towpath, our most tranquil route. But the Cheltenham train came in late, and it was slow going through the rain, so we ended up having to run the length of platform 11 to catch our connection. Then we had to squeeze our bikes in between the end carriage doors, there being zero other provision, this despite the service feeding Cambridge, Ely, King's Lynn, the most cycling-friendly part of England. (As Amanda tells Elyot,"Very flat, Norfolk.")

King's Lynn merits further exploration, but we much enjoyed what we had time to see of the old town, whizzing round the outsides of Clifton House (with its 18th Century barley sugar columns either side of the front door and extraordinary Tudor tower at the rear), the Guildhall, the Old Gaol, the Custom House and the so-called St Nicholas' Chapel (almost the size of a small cathedral). It was St Margaret's Minster that impressed me most though. Not just the Norman West front: the 13th/14th Century arcading and brasses too - but also the modern crucifix above the pulpit, altar frontal and stained glass in the large N-W window under the tower. A vibrant church!

We were glad to complete our 15 miles here before dark, and get out of the rain. This after only a minor detour - not bad considering I had no proper map. As my photograph shows, our kind hostess, a very old friend, has begun to look uncannily like Basil Hume. He was never, to my knowledge, a cat-lover: she gave us a cat as a wedding present.

A Quaker wedding

On Saturday last, we were present for the first time at a marriage in a Friends' Meeting House. The celebrating couple and their guests sat round in an open square. There was piano music from a CD player before the appointed hour; then silence. Virtually the only formal words spoken were those of each of the parties: "I take this my friend John," in the bride's case, "to be my husband, promising through Divine assistance to be unto him a loving and faithful wife, so long as we both on earth shall live." It was delightful in its simplicity and in the sincerity with which the words were spoken: how often does the presence of a priest or minister prevent one from remembering that marriage is a sacrament administered by the parties to one other.

The guests originated from 15 different countries, all coming together to celebrate in Wells-Next-The-Sea on the remote North Norfolk coast. There was a party in the evening in one of the seaside Whelksheds, part museum witnessing to the town's maritime history, part John's studio.

We had stayed a distance inland the night previously, in a gracious estate house with 16th Century origins: above shows the kitchen. On the night of the wedding, our B&B (recommended) was of similar age, in the incredibly picturesque village of Little Walsingham. The atmosphere could not be further removed from that of Lourdes.