Chelsea-On-Sea

Ah, Burnham Market. Or, as the locals and their bank managers prefer to call it,
“Chelsea-on-Sea.”We decided to grace this humble outpost with our presence for the first time in five
years. After all, with the Prince and Princess of Wales housing themselves just down
the road at Anmer, and Sandringham within spitting distance, one simply must rub
shoulders with the aristocracy. Apparently, Wills and Kate are regularly spotted here,
frantically searching the local boutiques for essential, up-market items they couldn’t
possibly find anywhere else. Obviously.

Upon arrival, we were instantly greeted by the thrilling sight of excited locals crowding
around what appeared to be a car boot sale… minus the cars. Sophisticated stuff.
First, though, we had to park. Naturally, Burnham Market charges parking fees that
would make a central London traffic warden blush. At one point, I genuinely looked
around for Dick Turpin to hand over my wallet.

Having successfully survived highway robbery, we sauntered over to the village green
to see what all the fuss was about. There, strewn across the grass in somewhat
straight lines, was what looked like the contents of a recently deceased Great Uncle
Horace’s garage. Upon closer inspection, the chalked numbers on the items weren’t
ridiculously low prices, but lot numbers. This was a public viewing before the grand
auction.
And what a selection. We’re talking multiple hedge trimmers (for all your varying
hedge-trimming emergencies), an empty Fortnum & Mason hamper basket (because
status is everything, even when empty), several bicycles that neither Horace nor Great
Auntie Edna could have physically ridden in this century, and general, unadulterated
tat. All of it was basking in the Norfolk sun, desperately trying to look appealing.
Apparently, this high-society event takes place every Saturday. Horace must have had
a truly gargantuan garage of useless rubbish. It’s a wonderfully “Burnham Market” way
of dumping your unwanted clutter onto someone else, completely bypassing the
plebeian channels of Facebook Marketplace.

Thankfully, the urge to bid on old garden tools was easy to resist. I did briefly eye up
two vintage 1970s NatWest piggy banks, but the thought of standing around to watch a
local billionaire bid them up to the price of a small yacht quickly cured me of that.
All in all, a thoroughly delightful visit. Glad we did it. No need to ever return… well, until
next Saturday, when I inevitably go back to see if Horace’s garage has yielded any
more premium tat.

All joking apart, Burnham Market is a lovely village. With a visit to No 29 on the cards to
sample their delights,a viait to the many art galleries and boutique style shops that
seem to stock anything and everything needed for country life.
The architecture is typical chocolate box and invites photographers from all angles to
record the different seasons plants displayed in the gardens alongside.

Well worth a visit