Three Days in Norwich
For the past week I have been working on-site, “teaching” professionals to do clever stuff. I'm being deliberately vague, because I can't imagine you'rereally interested in what I do in the daytimeapart from the bits where I swear a lot, thump the desk with both hands, and storm off in the general direction of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.“On site” this week meant Norwich, about 150 miles from home. It doesn't sound that far until you realise that half of that distance is a tortuous journey through numerous villages, wildernesses, and barren wastelands (ok, I may have made the last bit up). I travelled by train to get there, which meant an equally tortuous journey into and out of London, but at least you get to do something useful likeread a book goof around on your phone andtablet for the entire journey.
After finding the hotel (conveniently localted directly opposite the railway station), I checked in, stomped off to my room, and almost laughed out loud. I know hotel chains use the same fixtures and fittings in all of their hotels, but it still amuses me that a room in one hotel can be absolutely identical to a room in another hoteland it pretty much was.
Being something of a nerd, the one thing Idid notice straight away was the panel under the 40 flat screen TV with USB, HDMI, and component connectors on it. Even before unpacking my clothes I fished the external hard drive from my bag, and tried it out. Nothing. Nada. Hopes dashed. Just think of all the episodes of Community I wouldn't be watching on the huge TV in the room!? I never actually switched the TV on againgiven that the hotel had good broadband, the first thing I did each evening during my stay was unpack the laptop, and get comfortable at the desk in the room.
During the checkin process I rather foolishly said “yes” to the cooked breakfasts, which then meant I felt obligated to go and eat every morning. I never have cooked breakfastsor any breakfast reallyat home (and yes, I know that's terrible). I somehow forced myself out of bed at 7am each morning, washed, shaved, dressed, and thenforcedmyself down to the hotel restaurant to eat bacon, sausages, eggs, beans, and hash browns. Proper Olympian food (not).
Lunchtimes consisted of me wandering from the client site to the parade of food places nearby. We were very close to the Norwich City football stadiumand I knew their team had just been relegated from the Premier League. Walking past the various restaurantswas kind of sad; they were all brand new, all open each day, and none of them had any customers. No doubt they were all designed to make their money after football matcheswhen tens of thousands of people would flood the roads around the stadiumbut that's not going to be happening any more (or at least for another year, if they get promoted again).
At the end of the desolate row of empty restaurants I finally found signs of lifein the local Wetherspoons pub. Wetherspoons are kind of famous in the UK for having big pubs that sell cheap, well cooked food. It was a third the price of the hotel food and drink, and much nicerso I ate there every lunchtime, rather than getting an evening meal. Of course I encountered the problem any person eating on their own in a pub does; I ordered my food, told them a table number, paid, turned around, and somebody had taken the table. It happened twice in a row. Even the girl behind the counter thought it was funny the second time.p.s. they don't really do “healthy” food at Wetherspoons pubs. I ordered a pannini, thinking it would be a good lunchtime snack, and it arrived with a bucket full of chips. Of course having paid for the chips, I didn't want to waste them (excuses, excuses).
At some point I should probably go back to Norwich and have a proper look around the city. During my time there this week, I only saw the hotel, the pub, the client site, the railway station, and the various footpaths in-between.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I also saw the local supermarket, and the Hobbycraft store that I walked past on my way to supermarket. Given that I have three daughters, the Hobbycraft store beats a toy shop hands-down. I called home and asked if there was anything I should get, and half an hour later found myself trudging around looking at craft kits for rainy days. School breaks up for half-term next week. I'm guessing the craft kits I bought will be used to placate bored children. Of course our middle girl (she with the bat hearing) heard the conversation on the phone, and asked about her “present” the moment I walked in the door last night.
Coming home last night was good. Each time I go away, I become increasingly fed up withitthe whole travelling thing. Coming home is always the highlightgetting the round of hugs from my daughters, listening to their news, and sitting down to watch mindless television with my other half while the washing machine rumbles on into the night