I Love Norwich

The Lord Mayor's Procession

29/06/16

If you’re of a certain age and grew up in Norwich, you will have the following conversation quite regularly ‘Remember Rowntrees?’ ‘Oh god YES! The smell…’ If you’re not of a certain age and didn’t grow up in Norwich, then that will make no sense to you whatsoever (there used to be a Rowntree/Nestle chocolate factory where Chapelfield is now, and on certain days the entire city was drenched in a fragrant smog of chocolate. It was so heady you felt like you could eat the air). The only thing that comes close these days is the evening of the Lord Mayor’s Procession when the miasma of barbecue fills the skies.

The LMP always stirs up a cocktail of emotions for me. Annoyance that the city grinds to a halt. Amusement at some of the lame arsed floats (top prize still goes to the building company whose attempt was a van. With bunting. Seriously, that was it). Admiration for some of the seriously impressive floats and groups (bloke from Norwich Star Wars Club, I am looking at YOU, wearing a full on Chewbacca costume on what usually turns out to be the hottest day of the year). Mawkish ‘dawww’ing at the shyly proud children dancing in their little troupes. Mostly bemusement to be honest.

Because the whole thing is irredeemably naff. It’s mostly homemade, held together with safety pins and Sellotape, with face paint and crepe paper. And yet, year in, year out, we stand by the side of the road cheering them all on, getting excited when we’re given a sticker. Or a badge. Or even a pen, if someone’s feeling generous. And that is what makes it glorious. It’s a lovely reminder of what can be achieved by a bit of effort, a bit of arsing around, and the rest of us getting to enjoy it for all sorts of reasons, right and wrong. And then of course, the obligatory pissed up barbecue in every single back garden afterwards (or sodding off up Chappy to pay a fiver for an undercooked sausage in a slightly stale roll). Marvellous.