The main issue with visiting Cromer is simple yet unbeatable: once you get used to your new (not new, of course: quite opposite) routine, it’s already over and has become a memory in your messy mind trinket box.
—Early breakfast, a first walk on the Promenade, lunch at one of the numerous lovely places— always crab (platter or sandwich), followed by coffee with a scone or a pair of freshly made (literally, in front of you) doughnuts covered with sugar, then a long stroll either to the east (Overstrand) or to the west (Sheringham), and watching the sunset at low tide on the beach. No glimpse of exhaustion, only bliss from knowing that everything will repeat next day. Cromer is a perfect place for your ability to be a creature of habit.
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A day ago, during our late evening wandering around the Pier we passed by a young woman who called her ill-behaved doggo who managed to get off the lead and run to the sea.
“Lilibeth!” The woman shouted, “Lily, come on! Come back to Mummy!”
A slightly tipsy young man offered his help and ran down the stairs to the closest groyne where he detected a movement: indeed it was Lilibeth, with not a care in the world. The man caught her yet she jumped off his hands and ran away again (a nice game of hide and seek, I assume).
“Fuck you, dog!” shouted the woman, while the lad caught Lilibeth again and came back, holding her in his hands.
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There was an organ rehearsal at Peter and Paul’s before Tuesday’s concert: the soloist, Miriam Reveley (from Cambridge) was practicing Bach’s Concerto in A Minor, and it was marvellous: a great treat before our departure.
Farewell, Cromer. Until the next time. Love.
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