The weather had turned substantially colder, and the drizzle turned to rain. It was becoming more miserable by the hour, and perfect therefore for our next stop … a visit to the house of Edward Gorey in Yarmouth.
It was a little hard to reconcile a creator who was as deliberately weird as Gorey, having an address as twee as number Eight Strawberry Lane, but that too was perfect.
On the soggy lawn of the house, a wire sculpture of the Doubtful Guest stood rooted to the ground by a vine making a mild attempt to thrive in its mesh.
The house itself is striking, not large but with that quirky detail which seems a feature of the houses in the area. It is as if, within a sense of formal style, oddity is encouraged and celebrated. I had heard that the House and Museum were not yet open for the ‘summer’ season but peered through the door anyway. I was a little taken aback when the door opened and a small and mildly irritated man asked me if he could help. ‘No! , we could not enter’ and ‘No! , it didn’t make a difference that we had come from the southern hemisphere and were wet and deserving’. It was an altogether depressing experience. Perfect!