I was already exceptionally excited at the prospect of being invited to my friend Charlie’s wedding – but imagine my utter delight to find that it was in one of the few parts of the UK I had never, ever visited.
Having grown up in the West Country, East Anglia was quite literally at the opposite end of the compass point to me. Apart from Bernard Matthews, the similarity of their accent, Norwich City and Ipswich Town, East Anglia hadn’t held much meaning for me. That is until a certain fictional Radio DJ called Alan Partridge brought the region to life for me in the late 90s. From that moment on, places such as Swaffham, Terrington St Clements, Spixworth and Norvert, all became etched in my comedy subconscious. Despite having never been to any of these places, a slight nostalgic warmth came enveloped me when I found out I finally had good reason to visit East Anglia.
The wedding itself was being held in a village called Monks Toft, just a few miles from the Norfolk/Suffolk border, so we decided to stay in the coastal resort of Lowestoft, which was about a 25 min taxi ride from the venue.
New York, New York
The trip from East Yorkshire was slightly marred by fog, but we had a pleasant enough time tracking B Roads all the way down through Lincolnshire. Our travels took us through the village of “New York” which interestingly had an American Style Diner – no doubt influenced by the name. Around 4 hours later C & I rolled into Lowestoft to rest our weary heads.
We awoke to changeable weather. It didn’t look like the Gods were smiling favourably on the wedding party today and a brolly was hastily purchased. Our taxi driver was a very nice Portuguese chap who took us on a nice scenic tour of the surrounding area (thankfully, we weren’t on a metre!). We were dropped off at the White Lion Pub in Monks Toft. Armed with a good selection of real ales, we met up with the rest of the wedding party for a pre-match pint or two.
A Bit of History
With a bit of drizzle hanging in the air, we made our way up to the church. The church of St Margaret's in Toft Monks, I am reliably informed by norfolkchurches.co.uk, was originally constructed in the 13th Century. It certainly looked very old indeed and had a real air of beauty about, completely surrounded by fields, with a turret-like octagonal tower standing guard over the fenlands beyond.
The congregation crammed into the fairly small church and there was a buzz of anticipation as the bride arrived. I suddenly realised my position at the end of the row nearest the door would have been prime spot if I’d brought a camera. It also meant I was due to feature heavily in most of the pictures being taken, which led me to adopt a rather uncomfortable, hands-clasped-at-front pose, as I tried to blend into the background somehow!
As a patriotic, cricket-lover, I was glad to see Charlie had chosen some suitably stoic hymns which I belted out much to C’s amusement. “I vow to thee my country” and “Jerusalem” were inspired choices! The happy couple tied the knot and we all whooped and hollered, filling the ancient church with sounds it probably wasn’t used to.
Quaffage
After a bit of friendly wing-mirror clipping (not me your honour!), we made our way to the reception which was being held just a mile away at Elm’s Barn in the same village. Some serious bubbly got quaffed, canapés devoured and much catching up was done.
“Rawnds” or “Rounds”?
We were ushered into the main part of the barn itself, to our table which was sat right next to the bar (not that we needed it as the wine flowed freely!). Our table was named “Raunds” after a town in Northamptonshire where Charlie’s Grandparents lived. I did ask the correct pronunciation, but, alas, I cannot remember what it was. This probably has something to do with the game of “fives” we played. Just to explain, “fives” is a very simple drinking game. I say “simple”, but it did take a while for me to explain it to C. It has prompted me to produce a beginner’s guide to the drinking game Fives!
Drinking Strategy
As is usually the case with weddings, I end up drinking all the fizz, wine and any pints of bitter, lager or ale coming my way much too quickly during the day. Into the evening, the pace then fails to relent as more pints are consumed, along with obligatory, celebratory shots. This usually leaves me with a post-wedding hangover that effectively cripples me for the whole rest of the day.
As we had a very long drive the next day, C & I settled on a tactic that had worked for her at the last wedding we attended. It was a simple tactic; one I named “Not drinking as much”. And it worked brilliantly.
Apart from the agony of having to turn down numerous offers to buy me a drink, I pretty much kept to the plan and bought the odd pint to see me through til 11pm. I fell off the wagon a little when I spotted Jaegermeister being passed round, but the clear head and lack of nausea the next morning was suitably refreshing!
The next morning we went for a drive along the seafront of Great Yarmouth, which was quite impressive, before making our way back on the road towards home.
All in all, we had a superb weekend. It was a beautiful occasion. East Anglia was everything I’d hoped it would be and more (although I didn’t bump into any Partridge-esque characters like Dan Moody) and I managed to largely avoid the dreaded post wedding hangover! I think we might just return one day!
Having grown up in the West Country, East Anglia was quite literally at the opposite end of the compass point to me. Apart from Bernard Matthews, the similarity of their accent, Norwich City and Ipswich Town, East Anglia hadn’t held much meaning for me. That is until a certain fictional Radio DJ called Alan Partridge brought the region to life for me in the late 90s. From that moment on, places such as Swaffham, Terrington St Clements, Spixworth and Norvert, all became etched in my comedy subconscious. Despite having never been to any of these places, a slight nostalgic warmth came enveloped me when I found out I finally had good reason to visit East Anglia.
