Edi­tor’s let­ter

EDP Norfolk - - EDP NORFOLK MAGAZINE - DO­MINIC CAS­TLE, Edi­tor, EDP Nor­folk Mag­a­zine 01603 772758/07725 201153, do­minic.cas­tle@archant.co.uk

Au­tumn – sea­son of mists, mel­low fruit­ful­ness and flap­ping away at your face try­ing to wipe away those in­vis­i­ble spi­der-web threads that are float­ing about ev­ery­where. Why do spi­ders do that?

They’re never go­ing to catch a fly, surely, with a sin­gle lit­tle thread drift­ing in the breeze? Maybe they’re think­ing they might snag a hu­man.

“Good news, Char­lotte, I’ve bagged one. Plenty of meat on it; get your mother round for Sun­day lunch.” Per­haps an arach­nid ex­pert can up­date me on the think­ing be­hind th­ese sticky air­borne ir­ri­tants.

But that apart, like many of you I adore this time of year; the still­warm days, soft­en­ing light, crisp, dewy morn­ings and the change of colours as na­ture read­ies for win­ter. It is a time when our county glows with good­ness.

And Mrs Cas­tle and I are aglow too, I’m happy to re­port, as we cel­e­brate the not in­con­sid­er­able achievement of stay­ing mar­ried for 30 years. It was not a Nor­folk wed­ding back in 1988, I have to con­fess. We had been plan­ning the full schemoz­zle; church, re­cep­tion, flow­ers, hats, hand­bags and all.

But one evening, ex­hausted by the sheer blood­i­ness of the whole busi­ness we looked at each other and, al­most in uni­son, said: “Why don’t we get mar­ried, just us, in Scot­land?”

We’d al­ready booked an au­tumn hol­i­day in noble Cale­do­nia. A few se­cret phone calls and let­ters (it was 30 years ago) and a plot was hatched to get matched in Perth. We told no-one else.

The big McDay came; we hired a pho­to­ga­pher to pro­vide ev­i­dence, bor­rowed a lovely lady from a next-door of­fice to act as wit­ness and we be­came Mr & Mrs, and not just for tax rea­sons. We spent the evening on a pay­phone, with a huge bag of 10p pieces, spread­ing the news.

Our 30th – pearl – cel­e­bra­tions have been a lit­tle more re­strained than they might have been. A few weeks ago the lady of the house, ex­it­ing the prop­erty in a hurry, man­aged to trip, did a triple sal­chow with half-twist and pike and broke a leg.

So there has been plas­ter and now a huge or­thopaedic boot and not a lot of easy move­ment. But we man­aged to haul up to Wells-next-the-Sea for a clump about on the quay­side and some an­niver­sary fish and chips in the sun­shine, which was lovely.

Be­ing a pearl an­niver­sary any hus­band worth his Mal­don Sea Salt would shower his wife with fab­u­lous jew­ellery cre­ated from amaz­ing nat­u­ral gems hand­drawn from the sea by mighty­lunged pearl divers. I, how­ever, am worth a drum of Saxa and gifted ac­cord­ingly, but it was still well-re­ceived.

Have a lovely Oc­to­ber.

Au­tumn. Lovely, isn’t it?

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