I'm not sure how to write this blog post. Do I take it into art territory and talk more about beginnings and endings, memory, movement, life-lines and connections ? Or do I play it down and make it a regular trip out into the country to visit a few churches ?
Given that the churches and places we visited were some of my childhood haunts I cannot lie, this trip was something a bit special. 
My friend David had agreed to drive us out to a village called Cawston. I used to sing in the choir there, way back in the late 1970's and I was intrigued to see how it looked some forty years on (my heavens that makes me feel very, very old). In my head I'd envisaged a trip out in the sunshine and a nice walk along Marriots Way to Reepham and back. As it happened it was pouring with rain, really pouring. I suggested we head coastward but David said "Cawston's the plan". 
I should perhaps say that going to see a church was not a religious whim on my part, Britain is covered in churches and they are often and mostly beautiful and, or, interesting and we had already agreed that looking at churches was a fine thing to do with a day together. 
So we headed to Cawston, and yes just driving through the village brought up a flood of memories, and going in to the church still more. 
We were greeted by the smell of lilies in the porch and a lady who offered us tea apologising for the fact that they were just clearing up the book and jigsaw puzzle swap that they held every second saturday of the month. I love that it was a swap rather than a pay, in our current political climate where money seems to have completely taken over as most people's god of choice it's nice to think that old fashioned swapping is making a resurgence. 
We had a good look round, although I swear Cawston Church is the coldest church ever, I remember it was freezing way back when I was a child, as we sang in the winter our breath would come out in plumes, that hasn't changed. However, it was wonderful to see the church ceiling and the rood screen and to re-visit the choir stalls and the vestry - no longer curtained - where we used to change before service on a sunday morning, and also for more irregular services over Easter and Christmas. 
I'm afraid my photos of this church are not very good because I was a bit blown over by re-visiting my childhood. I was a bit shy of returning.