Driving around the fens is quite unlike driving around any other area I’ve lived. There are some wonderful long low bridges across the marshy landscape, a lot of these are fairly recent, made of concrete and steel. Between the bridges are sweeping curves along the dry boundaries between the sodden fields. Its no wonder these roads represent themselves as some of the most dangerous in the country, they invite overtaking, you feel safe because you can see a long way ahead and quite often you’re stuck behind a tractor or a local who seems to think that the national speed limit is 40mph. Or maybe its that their Hyundai doesn’t go any faster than that.
No destination, just driving….I stopped in Soham because it was there, and because there is an old wine shop for sale there and I wondered what kind of potential it had. Its an odd little town, hardly infiltrated by the high street names you see elsewhere, sure theres a few but so many local shops. And the whole town seems to be for sale, theres all kinds of crazy little buildings and bits of cobbled together property, each unique, each broken in its own way. Its like a dying town somehow, the shops that remain surely cannot make a viable living, but the place is too small for the big names to want a piece of the action.