The sun shone this morning, the washing up was done by ten o'clock, and as I was sitting at the computer Chris asked me if I knew what time there was a bus to Bungay. "Ten minutes, at the end of our road", I replied. Ten minutes later, we were on it.
In a car it might take half an hour to get to Bungay, if you were unlucky enough to get stuck behind a particularly slow tractor. The bus takes over an hour, being one of those delightful rural ones that can't see a turning without going down it. Chris, who has been travelling this route to work for several years now, gave me a running commentary on the finer points of church towers along the way (one was Saxon, several were round, all were flint and lovely). Then we got to Bungay, which both of us have been through many times but neither of us had actually stopped in before.
Bungay, as can be seen above, is a small market town in the Waveney valley, almost too pretty to be true. It has ancient houses, a ruined castle (with an excellent café attached, where we had lunch and talked to the waitress about knitting), and two sizeable churches staring at each other across a road.
Chris and I play a game in towns like this, pretending we could afford to live there and choosing our ideal home. I'm not sure I actually would want to live in a town so small and perfect. It strikes me as the sort of place that could start a petition if you decided to paint your front door pink or didn't plant daffodils. I'd rather live somewhere a bit scruffier, somewhere easier to live up to. Besides, even if we could afford a house, I'm not sure I could afford the temptation.
The ironic thing about today's trip is that the reason I knew the bus times for Bungay was because I thought about going there two Saturdays ago, but decided against it because I wanted to see Araucania sock yarns which I knew were stocked by Norfolk Yarns of Norwich. Turns out Knit and Yarn also have them. So I now have more. I should even have something to show for my new obsession soon.