Thursday at Windmill Sidings - in a part of forgotten Norfolk which cannot be found on any maps. It’s first thing, and not a soul is yet to be seen next to the ancient disused windmill, which last saw traditional use 100 years before the railway came.
However, the locals maintain it for pagan correction rituals; those with eyes too close together, witches, aggressive vegans, tee-totallers, Prius owners, those who wear spandex sports attire, Lambrini drinkers, shandy drinkers, young men who wear their jeans too low, latte drinkers, those who leave half a pint of beer undrunk, owners of metallic poo brown cars, couscous eaters, trainer wearers, politicians, despots, local government officers, those who order posh coffee in busy pubs, pot noodlers, double glazing salesman, virtue signallers, those who demand sprinkles on their ice cream, shouty people on mobile phones, Candy Crushers, banjolele players, and anyone from out of town.
These often lost souls are attached to the windmill arms and spun around until they repent. Other than that, it’s a lovely spot to spend a sunny Thursday morning.