SNOW ON THE SOUTHWOLD PIER
A Snowy Saturday morning. The snow blizzard in full force by now was quite dramatic but had, annoyingly, ensured that the pier was not open, and may not open at all that day. This, somewhat, urinated on the fireworks of the assistants.
We had been getting very excited about this visit too.  Andy from the Arcade was lovely and helpful but still couldn't let us set foot upon the pier.  We loitered and badgered Andy and spoke to his boss, who was unbudgeable and unbadgerable,
things were looking snowy and bleak for us when....as luck would have it Tim Hunkin, who made some slot machines and a crazy website, arrived. Andy introduced the Assistants to the fabled Tim Hunkin with the implication that if anyone could get us in, then Tim could. And he did.
Mr Hunkin escorted us on a brilliant backstage route through the kitchen, up some stairs, and down some too, past some builders or decorators or a chef or someone, we forget what he was working as- we were properly over-excited at our unexpected luck in wandering through the behind-the scenes bit of the Pier, and onto the ever-so-slightly snowy pier.
The sea looked mad and the snow was pretty flurrisome out at sea- so that may have been why it was all closed- even though the pier itself looked far from treacherous.
Tim Hunkin took us into his 'Under the Pier Show'. It's an amusement arcade of the most wondrous collection of slot machines you have ever clapped eyes on. Tim has made them all himself and has been doing so for years because he likes to 'make people laugh'. The Mobility Masterclass machine was brilliant. Check out our video of it... where your aim is to get to the ritzy for tea, across busy lanes of traffic on your zimmer frame without being run over and scraped off the road by the toy ambulance team.
We won't spoil the joy of discovering any others so check out the genius website, which Tim made too, or just go- with lots of 20pence pieces and some time, preferably on a clement day.

SUFFOLK TURKEYS
On leaving Southwold we accidentally embark on a failed sightseeing tour.
We are bound for Downham Market in Norfolk- but we keep spotting interesting signs which confuse and dilute our attentions.

The Oasis Camel Centre on the BH23 at Harleston sounds great but seems to be closed.

We wrote down Gamesgraves- but we evidently didn't get there or find it because we have no recollection of what it means.

We went miles off track to go and see the Iceni Village near Swaffam. We passed the imposing Oxburgh Hall on the way which is said to have a very well hidden priest hole in the house-  a hiding place for putting your priest in if you got caught short by the Protestants- they were built into many of the big Catholic houses of England when 'Papists' were getting persecuted by English law in the 16^th century and were often so well hidden that the authorities might spend weeks looking for the hole while the priest was busy starving to death in it.

We spent quite a long time hunting the Iceni village. Not weeks, but quite a while. The Iceni- in case anyone hasn't heard of them- were a conquered tribe of the Roman Empire, who were mistreated and slighted after the death of their King Prasutagus. They revolted against the Romans under the formidable leadership of Boudicca (or Bodicea as she used to be called we're sure).  Boudicca had been flogged and her daughters raped by the Romans. This was evidently the final straw in a catalogue of insults and injustices because the Iceni then gave back with both barrels, they roped in other tribes of ancient Britons and were said to have slain 70,000 Romans and their associates- looting and destroying Colchester, London and St Albans by the time the Romans defeated them.

Anyway, the Iceni village is closed until April. So we couldn't get in. Though it was an interesting diversion for us- persecuted Roman Catholics and Roman Soldiers persecuting ancient Britons.

The Assistants find themselves singing a soul version of  I'm a Little Teapot Short and Stout whilst driving through Diss and desperately needing a piss.

Diss is pretty and strange with a little chinese takeaway. The traffic jam was served on toast, unordered by the assistants, and held us up for a very very long time. It was a good job that we still had some salad left from the previous day to keep us occupied.

The conversation turned again to Turkey and Tinsel.  Andrew's mother and father used to go- Peter and Andrew knew all about Turkey and Tinsel. And Tris's Bristol housemate, Laura, told us that her mother and grandmother used to go. One of them said- we can't recall if it was Laura or Andrew- that the holidays are renowed for being a time to get plastered with your contemporaries- just like real Christmas then. And that many Turkey and Tinsellers couldn't really be bothered with Christmas-proper after these 5 days of pre- Christmas debauchery. Which is fair-dos. We think Grandmas probably get a bit of a raw deal out of real Christmas. All that soap and talc to unwrap, being expected to generally dodder about and behave yourself.

Our plan is to start up a turkey and tinsel for the young-uns. Or is that just a Christmas Southport Weekender?