Goodbye to East Anglia

There are many small pleasures to cycling.   Today a post office van stopped to turn right, blocking the road to cars.  I just whizzed past without slowing down.   A bit later a policeman was diverting traffic due to an accident but I was able to continue down the cycle path. 
And another thing.  Cycling along the sea wall path out of Hunstanton this morning, sharing the views of the Wash with a few dog-walkers, joggers and one or two brave swimmers. 

That was the last time I saw the sea.  Went up to Sandringham and through the woodland there, and then on to King's Lynn.  The best thing I can say about King's Lynn is that it has very good cycle provision.  I hardly went on a road and before I knew it I was out the other side.

Then followed a long stretch of, well, not much.  A few tiny villages and two bridges over the river Lynn?, and the Nene, which I think marks the boundary with Lincolnshire.   More empty roads, with more tractors than cars.  A view of the banked aea defences.  Otherwise featureless.   And did I mention long?

One surprise was a pub in the middle of nowhere, at about 1pm: unfortunately the door was locked.  Conversation with the publican, still in her dressing gown,  through the window:
Are you open?
No ... what do you want?
A drink, and perhaps a meal.
Can you come back in half an hour? We don't open till 1:30.
Well, not really.

So I'm now in Boston. My extensive planning enabled me quickly to find a Wetherspoons pub with good value food and free wi-fi.  Boston was a port and got rich exporting wool to Europe.  It has a huge church,  funded by the profits and designed by the same Ely architect as King's college chapel in Cambridge.   He did a good job since many other buildings seem to be leaning toward the river while the church tower stays uprught.   About 10% of Boston's population emigrated to found Boston, Massachusetts in the 1630s.  End of history lesson.