Diary – 9 February 2017

February Fill-Dyke. But north Norfolk is dry, at least in terms of rain. Instead we have coastal flooding. Three years ago, a tidal surge caused major damage and destruction to sea defences, wildlife habitats, paths and buildings. Another surge last month was less dramatic but still reached the gate of a friend’s house, set well back, behind marshes and road. It is terrifying to experience this unstoppable force and hear its mighty roar. Whole shingle banks were flicked aside. As a small child, I stood on the cliff top above raging seas in Scarborough, and the storm seemed biblical. You never underestimate the force of nature, and possibly the wrath of God, once you have witnessed a tidal surge.

Brexit has been as bad as any surge in washing away hitherto strong foundations. I am talking about friendships. I have never known the like. To be called a racist, a ‘little Englander’ and worse was bad enough, but to have people one has long known and liked say they could no longer be friends with ‘someone like you’ was very shocking. My father was a Mass-going Roman Catholic, a Labour voter and a union shop steward. My mother was a church-going Anglican and lifelong Conservative. They were married for 33 years and although their union was alarmingly fiery, they made a pact from the beginning that they would never argue about, or even discuss, religion or politics. They kept it. I was sent to a Catholic convent school, but Church of England Sunday school and Girl Guides. If all that could be arranged amicably, heavens to Betsy surely friends can remain friends, whatever happens to the relationship between us and the EU — which in any case is a relatively young one.