My friends call it a town, and there are a good number of shops, not to mention pubs, but my AA guide book to East Anglia calls it a village.
For those readers across the pond, AA here stands for Automobile Association, not Alcoholics Anonymous.
We went for a stroll on Christmas Day morning. Naturally I had my little Olympus in my pocket. The guidebook talks tantalisingly of how in summer, ‘the great spread of a rose nursery blazes from the green slopes just outside Harleston. The valley is a froth of blossom in the spring, and in summer is a sparkle of cottage gardens.’ Purple prose maybe, but as it was December, I was in no position to judge.
I saw a very pretty town/village with handsome Georgian buildings, some lovely pargeting, modest cottages,and a contender for the country’s smallest museum.
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