A passion for Norfolk captured beautifully by local photographer, Sally Lloyd, with narration by the various protagonists delightfully observed by John Gordon-Saker.
£19.99
More than 30 in stock
Streams of Consciousness is a collection of extremely short stories inspired by local photography, with the narratives written from the viewpoint of various third parties including a crab, mother, waitress, seagull and farmer. Some are based on the author’s own experiences, whilst others are pure fantasy.
Many of the places featured in this book will be very familiar and special to readers for a variety of reasons, but they’ve been captured beautifully by local photographer, Sally Lloyd, with the jeopardies narrated by the various protagonists being delightfully observed by John Gordon-Saker. Their combined passion for Norfolk screams off every page and this charming “coffee table” book is recommended for anyone who loves Norfolk or those who might be discovering its diverse attractions for the first time. Each story is an entertaining read, but the book is an intriguing advert for a beautiful county.
First kiss
Don’t let anyone tell you love at first sight isn’t a thing.
There he was. Frequently glancing in the direction of our little blue hut. Sunglasses are a great disguise –
apparently reading but noticing every beautiful move including his final look back.
The next day was Sunday, when Mum and Dad routinely left early to make a start on the roast, whatever the
weather.
There he was. Coming towards to me. Act calmly. The sunglasses came off awkwardly. The book fell to the
floor clumsily. Could he be any more beautiful? Did I live here? What? I gave him some gibberish about not in
the hut obviously. He laughed and said more while I blankly took him all in. I think I heard he was on holiday,
but his family planned to move here. He hoped to see me again. Say something! Too late.
After lunch I raced back to the hut as I’d conveniently left my book.
There he was. Sitting on my step. It seemed churlish not to show him around.
Our first kiss was in the little blue hut.
Our last kiss was in the little blue hut.
After fifty-four years we couldn’t have been any happier together but here I am in my little blue hut, toasting
the memories of that beautiful boy with our children.
I’m Gavin. Gav to my mates, but I’ve either hacked them off or they’re dead. Everyone knows me as The
Gav’nor.
I’ve got some pretty good ideas why nobody loves me.
Starlings. They’re nervy little scrawny things, but they’re nimble. Not so many around here these days. They
prefer the easy pickings of Wells Harbour where us big guys find it difficult to manoeuvre and swoop. If I do get
to mug one over on my patch it’s only for crumbs. Hardly worth it, but what sport!
Other gulls. They quake in their boots too and know not to mess with me. Others who think they’re brave
always come off worse. If one of the posh nosh brigade flies in from Blakeney, Holkham or Weybourne to try
their luck with junk food, they soon know who’s boss. Trash is my speciality and with the number of
overflowing wheelies about, pickings are easy, especially on bin days.
Humans. I mostly let others do the hard work. The other day, Gerty, that timid little thing over there, thought
she’d bagged a burger off a dumb six-year old on the prom. Headed out to sea with it. Not very bright that
one. I knew she’d have to turn inshore for the scoff. Caught her nicely amidships as she banked left. The
burger flew out of her beak and into mine as she crashed into the sea. She’s still licking her wounded pride.
Abuse? Bullying? Don’t be daft! It’s survival of the fittest out here. She knows that.
Nobody can peck through a discarded bag like me. But the trick is to get up early before the slackers. Oh, and
make as much squawking as I can to annoy the humans as I go about my business. Because I can.
Nice to chat. Must dash. Tea-time on the pier with too many starlings gathering for my liking. Be careful out
there!
This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website. Find out more.