Wednesday 12 August
It has been officially announced that the country is in recession as a result of two quarters of negative GDP. It’s no surprise of course, but still pretty sobering. There is certainly worse to come.
I am reading a superb novel at the moment. ‘Wykenhurst’ is set in 1912, in west Suffolk and is a gothic mystery with a hearty dash of supernatural scare and a murder tale chucked in. One of the main features of the novel is The Doom; a painting from the 1500s depicting the last judgment of souls when they die. Jesus and Satan are depicted ‘welcoming’ spirits as they’re earthly lives are weighed against good and bad. This painting is found in a church yard wood pile, after rain had washed away the lime whitewash painted on by puritans in the 1600s.
It’s a gripping read and the author clearly has a passion for the East Anglia and specifically the fans. Their is a deep appreciation of it’s rich history and reliance on folklore. It turns out that she based the idea of The Doom on a real version (with an almost identical back story) that resides in a tiny church in a village in mid-Suffolk. I have contacted the warden and am hopefully going to see it on Friday.
Meanwhile, the relentless heat continues, 33° today. Lisa has made supper and we are going to the beach hut at Frinton later today. Around 5pm, people will start leaving just as we will arrive. Then a cooling dip in the sea, supper and card games as the sun sinks and the camping lights come on.
Later…The other day I wrote about how wonderful the beach is and how we all seem to be drawn to it. All types, all kinds. Just sat on the step next to the beach but we have talked to a lady from India, living in Walton, going for a tequila shot session with her friend from London. Then a Hassidic Jewish family walk by and we exchange hello’s and ‘have you had a good time?’ conversations. Plus many others beside. The family in the beach hut next to us were lively friendly bunch who’s dog ram and played with Mabel off the lead. I could walk down the high street in Colchester, past many dozens of people, and share a word.
The Bald Birder 