The Great Bank Holiday Escape: Sun, Spuds, and Serendipity in Wells-next-the-Sea

🐟 The Saturday scramble and the fryer’s delight
Our weekend kicked off on Saturday morning as we rolled into Wells-next-the-Sea. If you ever want to test the structural integrity of your relationship, try navigating a seaside town on a bank holiday weekend. Historically, Wells was a major Tudor port, exporting grain to the continent. Today, its primary export seems to be pure holiday vibes. Our first mission? Sustenance. We headed straight to French’s Fish Shop, a local legend frying up happiness since 1921. Eating fish and chips by the quay is a mandatory ritual, mostly because the local seagulls operate a highly organized protection racket. We managed to eat our crispy cod without any avian highway robbery, which we counted as our first major victory of the day.

🏖️ Peak sun and vibrant huts
After browsing the local boutique shops—where we successfully resisted buying things we didn’t need—the sun hit its peak. We steered our electric campervan toward the beach café car park. Wells is famous for its vast, sweeping sands and a iconic row of stilted beach huts that look like a rainbow dropped its toothbrush holder. These huts exist because the beach is protected from the wild North Sea by a massive pine plantation planted in the 19th century by the Earl of Leicester to stop the sand from swallowing the town. Walking through the pinewoods onto the blinding white sand felt like stepping into another dimension.

🍦 The gelato gamble and the secret meadow
As the afternoon heat mellowed, we treated ourselves to some local gelato. It turns out ice cream melts exponentially faster when you are desperately looking for a place to park a campervan on a fully booked bank holiday. Every official campsite in Norfolk was crammed tighter than a tin of sardines. Just as panic was setting in, we stumbled upon Rowhill Farm. For a small fee, they allowed us to park overnight. Because of the holiday rush elsewhere, we ended up being completely, gloriously alone. We parked up against a backdrop of golden wheat fields and watched a brilliant sunset. It was so quiet you could hear a blade of grass drop. Who needs a five-star resort when you have a million-star sky all to yourself?

🥐 Sunday sunrises and pastry heaven
Sunday morning began with the ultimate breakfast of champions: a hot brew and a cheeky non-alcoholic beer in the early morning sun. After packing up, we headed back into Wells for a proper refuel at the Two Magpies Bakery. We ordered fully loaded croissants that were so heavy they could have been used as ship anchors, washed down with excellent hot drinks. While we stuffed our faces, we hooked the electric van up to a local charger. In the time it took the van to juice up, we naturally had to walk over to East Coast Gelato. Yes, that is two gelatos in less than 24 hours. No, we are not accepting criticism at this time.

🦌 Deer, ducks, and the scorching estate
By midday, the thermometer hit a staggering 29 degrees Celsius in the shade—essentially a tropical heatwave by British standards. Seeking refuge, we drove over to Holkham Hall. This magnificent 18th-century Palladian mansion was built by Thomas Coke, the 1st Earl of Leicester, who clearly had an obsession with Roman architecture and a lot of spare cash. We strolled around the colossal parkland, which felt like walking through a live-action nature documentary. We saw deer grazing peacefully, wild ducks executing perfect synchronized landings, and squirrels playing tag. The absolute showstopper was the Walled Garden. Breathtaking doesn’t even cut it; it’s a horticultural masterpiece that makes our houseplants back home look deeply depressed.

🚐 The melting drive home
After a wonderfully healthy lunch at the Holkham estate cafe to counteract the weight of three separate dairy/pastry emergencies, it was time to face the music. We piled back into our fully charged van for the two-hour drive home. It was an absolutely scorching afternoon, the kind of day where the tarmac feels sticky and you question why you didn’t buy a camper-van made entirely of ice. Despite the heat, we rolled back into our garage sun-kissed, well-fed, and incredibly grateful for the accidental solitude of our farmyard hideaway. Norfolk, you were an absolute dream.

Please see more photos from this weekend below: click and scroll through