Yesterday evening I squeezed in a 25-mile ride to make sure I visited a few hopefully familiar places in Harleston. I lived there for about five years from the age of seven.

Harleston was on today’s book loop route, but only the main street, so I spent a while last night mopping up those bits I knew I wouldn’t see today.

This included our old house at 6 Weavers Croft. It was new when we moved in. I remember a childhood of freedom; the freedom to wander, walking mainly but also cycling, aimlessly.

I headed to the centre of the village, passing the house where an old man used to admonish us kids for playing outside his house.

I remembered very little of the centre of Harleston. The pubs and shops clearly made very little impression on me at the time. There was/is a clock tower, one-way streets and some impressively large pub hotels? Who knew?

I bought milk, orange juice and a microwave meal at a convenience store (liver and onions; bit of a nostalgic throwback) and returned to Tibenham.