Ask any journalist about the perks of the job and number one will be ‘Press trips’! Lovely, all-expenses paid treats in exchange for a few hundred words in the paper. Bliss. Over the years my press trips took me to Canada, Portugal, Majorca, France and many more, but as the Cambridge News online archive has gone (did I mention that?) and I can’t find any of my stories except this one, please enjoy reading about my glamorous trip to - Cromer. You’re welcome.
It was all Alan Partridge’s fault. There I was, innocently watching the cinematic masterpiece Alpha Papa, when I suddenly realised that Norfolk’s finest DJ was having an armed stand-off on... Cromer Pier.
Cue a deliciously warm flashback.
It’s summer 2008, and my partner and I, along with my son, then 7, are stuffing our faces with fish and chips on that very same pier, the wind whipping our hair and the seagulls eyeing us up with that curious mix of hope and disdain.
I probably hadn’t thought about Cromer since then (we’d been staying at Kelling Heath, and had only popped to the seaside town for lunch), but here it was in all its glory on my telly screen. Even on what was clearly a winter's day it looked magnificent, and I took the snap decision to take my brood there for a long weekend.
Now although we’re old hands at seaside trips, we normally head for Suffolk - for no reason other than that’s where I had family holidays in the olden days. But Cromer has one huge advantage over the rocky shores of Thorpeness and Aldeburgh – SAND! It doesn’t bother grown-ups, but when your children are 12 and nearly 5, it makes a colossal difference.
We headed out of Cambridge in rush-hour traffic on a Friday afternoon, but still made it to the hotel within two hours. Just moments from the beach, the Virginia Court Hotel is a delight. With three stars but feeling altogether posher, it has a distinctly colonial feel (think leather sofas, lamplight and leafy palms), boutique-style rooms and unfailingly smiley staff. Just the ticket after two hours of Singa-longa-Frozen.
After dinner at the hotel (posh fish and chips for the kids, Cromer crab for the grown-ups - it'd be rude not to), we ignored the looming mist and darkness and went to the beach. The tide was in and, other than the odd lone dog-walker, we had the place to ourselves. In the gloom, the kids spent what seemed like hours lobbing stones into the water and whooping with glee. Now that's something you can’t recreate on a computer screen.
The following morning, waddling somewhat after a top hotel breakfast, we headed back to the sea. The children looked confused and disappointed for a moment: where was the sand I’d promised? But as the stone-lobbing and whooping began again, the sea gradually pulled back to reveal a golden arc of the yellow stuff. Then, after much digging, squealing, splashing and crab-hunting, we put on our slightly soggy clothes and wandered into town.
Cromer is a funny old place, a veritable oxymoron of grandeur and earthiness. It has a reputation for being a bit, well, tacky, and if you're accustomed to the gentrified tweeness of Holt or Holkham, you may have heard that it's not for you. But I'm officially taking umbrage with this.
OK, so it does feel 'seasidey' with its blingy arcades, giant plastic ice-creams and rows of brightly-coloured buckets and spades. But look beyond the tat and you're in for a treat. A Victorian town, Cromer is bursting with buildings painted in pastel pinks and yellows that jut out from the cliff, a cliff topped by a grand medieval church that’s almost cathedral-like in proportions.
And while the high street is definitely more Shoe Zone than chi-chi, some of the little streets leading down towards the sea are almost painfully pretty, lined as they are with quaint fishermen's cottages and higgledy-piggledy shops.
Lunch had to be fish and chips, but although we'd heard that top chef Galton Blackiston - who runs the Michelin-starred Morston Hall just up the coast in Blakeney - has opened a new venture called No1 Cromer (an award-winning fish and chip shop with a restaurant above), we 'did a 2008' and returned to Mary Jane's Fish Bar, only just beating the queue that quickly built up behind us. And then, of course, we strolled off to scoff it all on the pier, the haughty seagulls in hot pursuit.
After more beach fun, we heeded some particularly fine advice and went to cliff-top restaurant Bella Vista (real-hospitality.co.uk/bella-vista) for an early dinner. It was an inspired decision: breathtaking sea views, tip-top service, truly excellent food and almost unbelievably reasonable prices were clearly the reason for the salivating crowd queuing up outside. Do make sure you book.
And here's a sentence I never thought I'd write: we followed that by taking our seats at the Seaside Special end-of-the-pier show. Now please put away those prejudices: it was properly, properly enjoyable. Yes, the ostrich feathers and glittery waistcoats were in plentiful supply, but the quality of comedy, dancing and singing was far better – and classier – than I'd expected or hoped. And, dare I say it, a far sight better than some of the shows I've seen in Cambridge…
Rain threatened on Sunday morning, so we eschewed the beach and instead drove a couple of miles to Amazona Zoo (amazonazoo.co.uk), just outside the town. Small but perfectly formed, it’s based on the animals you’d find in South America, from flamingos and caimans to monkeys and jaguars. Clean, quiet and very, very good, it's yet another recommendation from this smitten family.
Lunch was at the Old Rock Shop Bistro (theoldrockshopbistro.co.uk), a cool vintage-style caf with jukeboxes and booths. They're famous for their homemade cakes, freshly-caught crab and seafood chowder, but, still bursting from our hotel breakfasts, we went for sandwiches instead. Next time (and there WILL be a next time – had you guessed?) we'll leave more room.
Then, ruefully, regrettably and with a silent promise to return asap, we piled into the car and headed home via the new Wild Rootz adventure playground at the Pensthorpe Nature Reserve (pensthorpe.com) in Fakenham, about 40 minutes away. It was another inspired decision: the journey was broken up, and the kids used up any surplus energy by swinging, sliding, splashing and zipwiring around like monkeys, while I gazed wistfully at the nature reserve in the distance. A blur of birds, lakes and blowsy flowers, Pensthorpe looked stunning. Note to self: must return a) with binoculars and b) without children.
Everybody loved our weekend away, but for me, the best thing about Cromer was that it reminded us all what ‘family time’ really means. When your children have an age-gap as large as ours (nearly eight years), there are very few things they enjoy doing together, but digging sandy holes, splashing in the waves and stuffing arcade machines with 2Ps turned out to be both bonding and a right good laugh. Move over, Waltons.
Our verdict on Cromer, then, is a resounding thumbs up, and we'll be back very, very soon.
Cheers for that, Alan.
(c) Cambridge News