North Walsham has been my home since I was 7. Like most teenagers, I grew to hate the place I lived. I thought it was small minded, lacking in ambition, shoddy. It is. A large swathe of the 10,000 inhabitants will never leave. People are, if not happy to be there, unwilling to move out, to change things. This was one of the major reasons why I wanted to go to university in London; when you grow up in a town where people are literally surprised to see a non-white person, moving to one of the most culturally diverse cities in the world makes sense.
So, this afternoon I went out armed with my digital camera to document the place that, until I move into my new house in Deptford, is home. My abilities with a camera are somewhat limited so don't think that I'm in any way proud of these shots artistically.
This is an alley on the street I live on, Norwich Road. It leads you to some of the nicer council estates in town. These estates surround my old primary school. I sometimes bike through them on nice summer evenings trying to recapture my youth. Invariably I just end up remembering that I find cycling horribly strenuous, come home, collapse on the sofa and feel faint.
Further up Norwich Road, you come to the old baked bean factory. I'm not entirely sure how long beans were produced here, but I remember the place being abandoned in about 2002. Since then it's just become a place for people to practice their brick throwing. I think the council want to turn the site into another housing estate. I always hoped it would become a really good nightclub. In hindsight this was somewhat naive of me. Still, it looks really 'gritty' now and I'm sure lots of teens in skinny jeans studying photography have taken dead good photos of it. I just took rubbish ones of the door:
I always wanted to get out of North Walsham. The train was the easiest way to get to Norwich. Growing up in North Norfolk leaves you believing that Norwich is a cosmopolitan wonderland rather than simply a nice, quiet little city. I couldn't resist taking this photo though:
The credit crunch hit my hometown hard. On my first visit home after moving to New Cross, I was shocked to see how many of the shops had gone out of business. Half the high street was closed. Even on a Thursday afternoon, the busiest day in town due to the weekly market, you can see the effect the current economic crisis has had.
Not even the Jolly Swagman could beat the recession. 
Credit crunch lunches don't stretch to fresh fish.
Not everywhere is doing badly though. The bookmakers next to the fishmonger's was packed. So much so that one bloke was stood outside, peering into the window. I watched him for several minutes. He was trying to communicate with two women who were playing one of the fruit machines. Either they genuinely couldn't see him, or they were pretending not to notice him frantically tapping away at the window. I hope he eventually plucked up the courage to go in.
Another place that has been doing well is the factory on the edge of town. It used to be owned by my grandfather. A few years back, he retired and sold the factory to 'The Mattress Man'.
I mentioned the market earlier and it does have a big impact on the place. It's the only day of the week when you'll see the high street full of people, rather than the odd single mother pushing a pram down the road. Have some photos of the market in full swing.
Another place that has been doing well is the factory on the edge of town. It used to be owned by my grandfather. A few years back, he retired and sold the factory to 'The Mattress Man'.
I mentioned the market earlier and it does have a big impact on the place. It's the only day of the week when you'll see the high street full of people, rather than the odd single mother pushing a pram down the road. Have some photos of the market in full swing.
Fruit and puzzle books. That's all we got.
As a younger man, I was convinced that there was nothing to do in North Walsham. I was wrong. It took the town 30 years, but we finally got a swimming pool. Finally we had a place where lads called Shayne, who drive souped up 106's, can finger 14 year olds in public. And just look at this set of cracking gigs the town's got lined up:
Walking round the place, I was reminded that everyone my age hates their hometown. But small town Britain isn't that bad a place. Earlier in the year, I went to Bexlyheath with my ex-girlfriend to meet her family. On the train there she'd told me how awful the place was. And initially I agreed. When we disembarked, the first thing we saw was an alcoholic in a pink shellsuit puke up bile. But apart from that it was fine. A little boring, yes. But awful? No, not really. Everywhere's the same. Even North Walsham.
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