Normal For Norfolk

Dave Phillips and his 1984 Ninety head east to enjoy life driving the slow lanes of North Norfolk... and meeting some extraordinary characters along the way.

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Norfolk has always thrived on its splendid isolation from the res tof the country. Transport links to, and particularly within, my home county have always been notoriously poor. Even today there are no motorways and it takes two hours to travel by train from London to Norwich (99 miles) – about the same as it does from London to Paris (210 miles).

Within Norfolk, the narrow, twisting B-roads and dusty, single-track unclassified roads make this the ideal countryside to explore in a Land Rover of a certain age. An average speed of 50 mph is something to aim for in these parts. So that’s why Billy the puppy and I are here in North Norfolk this week, behind the wheel of my 32-year-old Ninety, which is powered by a naturally aspirated diesel that’s happiest when enjoying life in the slow lane.

Because of their physical isolation from the rest of the nation, Norfolk’s inhabitants enjoy a reputation of doing things differently. Eccentricity comes as standard. In these parts it’s known as 'Normal for Norfolk', or 'NFN' for short. Local author Keith Skipper, doyen of all things Norfolk, reckons the phrase was invented a century or so ago by doctors at Norwich Hospital, frustrated by patients apparently incapable of describing their symptoms in anything other than the colourful but impenetrable local dialect. Although invented as a derogatory term for the simple rustics, “Normal for Norfolk” was embraced with pride by those same peasants. Those of us born and bred here celebrate our own eccentricities.