It doesn’t take much to get a rise out of East Anglia. A short climb of hand-cut steps brings me to the top of a mound overlooking Sandy, where a vista unfolds, almost worthy in terms of ground surveyed of a panorama from a northern fell. Locals call this place the Pinnacle, although I think of it as the five-county view.
For a moment I have the hilltop to myself, though I do have company of sorts. The words of a jittery young man during lockdown come to mind: “I come up here to clear me head.” We spoke just once. Other times I would find him sitting alone on the bench, staring out and looking in. I would slip past without glancing over, thinking it best to leave him to his thoughts.
