Last night I found myself pondering the great mysteries of Suffolk life. Not the midfield diamond, nor the January transfer window, but something far more pressing:
A trout, swimming serenely through the imagination, wondering if Coddenham’s village pond could ever be its Wembley.
Four telephone boxes, standing proud like sentinels of communication, each one secretly auditioning for a role in Downton Abbey.
A trilby hat, tilted just so, as if Robert Bathurst himself had wandered through the high street, nodding politely before vanishing into the mist.
I ask you, fellow posters: what connects these disparate wonders? Is Coddenham the hidden capital of trout couture? Do trilbies belong in every telephone box? And should Robert Bathurst be knighted for services to surreal Suffolk symbolism?
Discuss. Or ignore. Either way, the trout approves. |  |
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