First, let me just say, he’s not hiding. He’s just… opting for better air. Martin Shaw lives in Norfolk, England. That’s right, the guy who once chased villains down grimy alleys now chases rabbits out of his vegetable patch.
He moved there years ago, and he’s pretty smitten with it. He calls it home, and honestly, you can hear the relief in his voice when he talks about it. No more sirens, just the sounds of cows and the wind. Fancy that.
He’s got a house in a tiny village. I’m not naming it because, you know, privacy—and I’d like to keep my job. But let’s just say if you blink, you’ll miss it. He loves that about the place.
Why Norfolk? Really?
You might think, “Norfolk? Isn’t that just flat fields and aggressive seagulls?” Yes and yes, but Shaw sees it differently. He’s a birdwatcher, a massive one. Like, he gets genuinely excited about a rare marsh harrier.
He gave an interview once where he basically said London was draining his soul. I’m paraphrasing, but the gist was, he needed space, quiet, and dirt under his fingernails. You have to respect that kind of unsentimental honesty.
Plus, he owns a huge dog. A Hungarian Vizsla, I think? That dog needs room to run. You can’t give a Vizsla a "good life" in a studio flat in Soho. The dog would revolt.
