Right, I thought, I did those extra hours on Wednesday so I'll take the afternoon off on Thursday: nice nice nice. Made a mental plan to sign off at 1pm, meet Andy for lunch nearby, then bike over to Woodbridge and occupy a warm seat in another cafe for a couple of hours, staring into the distance. I know just the place, I told Andy. Four minutes before hitting shutdown, 12:56, he texted to say "I'm inside table one see you soon". Sort-ed.

Place opened a few months back, I'd told him, as mentioned on the local BBC news; just hope they're still going. I reached 21 Young Hearts about 13:05, and there were signs of life everywhere: in fact, said Andy, speaking between mouthfuls of meaty bap, it was packed when he arrived. Which is all very lovely 'cos they're doing great work here with their mission "to empower young individuals with disabilities by providing them with meaningful employment opportunities" (bit like the old Town Hall Tea Room and the St Lawrence centre to name but two).

Star of the show is young Kyle who's not only splashed over the front window but humble enough to chalk up my sausage & bacon bap, banana Yazoo and bag of sea salt crisps. Cheers, fella. We're right next to Duncans Bakery, BTW, where I note we had very similar all-day breakfast lunches way back in 2011. Inside is abuzz. Seems like they've already established the community hub they'd hoped for.

There's a tip-top selection of sweet treats including puffy mince pies, Christmas gingerbread, lemon drizzle loaf, funfetti (!) cookies, carrot cake, and Victoria sponge. Top-left, though, is shouting out to me: it's the Old School Cake, a slab o' sponge with white icing covered with 100s & 1000s. Yes, please! With no chai latte available, Andy joins me in a flat white but of the decaf variety, unlike mine. Window lettering reads "Good Coffee / Great People / Big Hearts". Amen to that.

If it was a car -- Danacol Heart Car.
If they were passing by -- Candi Staton.

Would be a nice change for Andy the motorist, I reflected, if I could find an unvisited lunch spot in The 'Swich with free parking and minimal walk, especially since the very rainiest rain was forecast. No, that's inaccurate and paints me in a rose-hued light. Was actually Andy himself who requested "easy parking to avoid the rain". Memory, eh? I can smile at the old days.

But definitely my suggestion to head into the Bird Cage (as we used to call it in the CB days). I was on the two wheels, of course, and cycled past long gone Gwydyr Road to the site of the old Royal Showground to arrive around 2:20pm. Gosh, these lunches have got later and later lately. My four-wheeled companion beat me by a couple of mins and was visible in the window of Cafe Chantry -- classy curly lettering -- where the old newsagent used to live. Note that we'd been here back in September 2024 when it was called Barla's: never written up since it was due a major refurb, though the poached eggs were good.

More or less got the place to ourselves, given the weird time. Not a problem. Signage out front talks of Breakfast-Lunch-Dinner (left) and Panini-Baguettes-Sandwiches (right). From the suspiciously length menu we go for egg/bacon/chips/beans, my occasional treat, and sausage & bacon panini, neither of us obviously concerned for our health. May as well have the fizz too, the decaf Rio for him, the medicinally recommended Dr Pepper for me.

Five minutes to admire the greenery pinned to the wall and the illustrated images of London then here's our plates o' fuel: oh yes. Super friendly service, smiles all round, and more than happy to fetch him a slab of choc fudge and me a lump of carrot cake, 'cos YOLO. Swirly choc sauce a nice touch. And, as per our previous visit, my flat white was excellent. I'll be going back.

If it was a car -- Nissan Bluebird.
If they were passing by -- Tony Hawk.

"Got a table," I texted Andy at 14:31 on a nondescript Friday afternoon. He's recently returned from Sweden where he was scanned good & proper a full year after his big stem cell op. There's more patches of red and yellow on the images he shows me, and that augurs well, though it didn't help him locate the new caff directly opposite The Regent.

Gave him a menu and told him I'd pre-ordered the £35 Cataplana a Algarvia, aka the seafood stew. Not really, I said. Laminated sheet before us doesn't have a sarnie in sight. Transpires that Golden Coffee is perhaps more for those with a bit of an appetite, offering a choice of peixe (fish), carne (meat) and burgers & omelettes (you do the translation). We're very much in the Ipswichian part of the Iberian peninsula. He goes for the francesinha while I opt for cheese & ham omelette: let's share.

Ten years back we sampled the lunchtime delights of Flavours Of Portugal at number 4, St Helen's Street. Now, with the demise of Masons Estate Agents on the corner, and very much in the spirit of Vasco da Gama, they've expanded their empire. Kitchen's on one side, half a dozen tables are on the other, and I've landed a dream spot right under the big telly: yes, they're happy to turn it down, no problem.

Here's my plate-sized omelette and some fluffy crinkle (not crankle) cut chips, and here's his mega-bowl comprising a toasted sausage & steak sandwich in some sort of sauce encircled by his own portion of fries. He's trying to cut it in half, hacking his way through like Henry Morton Stanley, and has just about finished when the lady appears with a sharp knife. You like food? she asks. Is from northern Portugal. Yes, we say, very good. I'm well aware of my 4pm appointment at the dental hygienist: travel toothbrush is in my tote. Decent espresso to finish, and we are absolutely finished.

If it was a car -- UMM Alter 2000.
If they were passing by -- Nelly Furtado.

Q: in 2018 how excited was I to hear that Pret intended to open in Ipswich?
A: very excited.
Q: in 2019 how exasperated was I to hear that Pret pulled out?
A: very exasperated.
Q: in 2022 how amused was I to see a Pret logo in Ipswich and then again?
A: very amused.

So, no Pret, not yet. But at least that familiar Pret deep red branding has finally gone from the Cornhill with the most welcome arrival of rival chain Jamaica Blue in the old Grimwades shop. They offer "classics with a twist" according to their site. And I should say I'd already had a couple of commendable coffee 'n' cakes in there before meeting the boy Andy for a late light lunch. Which works well for him, car-wise, since there's flat rate parking at Franciscan Way after 14:00.

Somewhat sunny stroll up past Cafe Myra and Central Canteen and Honey & Harvey and into a buzzin' super central Jamaica Blue: opened July 2025, BTW. Needing the loo, Andy spends nineteen nanoseconds deciding on his order, the £14 bang-bang burger with chips, and a berry smoothie, please. Lucky that one of us is still earning, eh? Might as well treat myself to the gyros in Yorkshire pudding, that traditional Greek/Leeds combo, and a key lime smoothie, please. Half an hour later, at our decent table with the decent view of the downtown 'Swich, I was digesting and helping him to finish his chips since he's meant to be cutting down the carbs. All good, never mind.

There's some very positive talk of outcomes from his stem cell treatment, another reason for indulging in some shared raspberry matcha cake and cream. This despite Andy drowning in home-grown raspberries. We're absently staring at the Cornhill water spouts when an August downpour kicks in: summer's nearly over, kids. Jamaica Blue will more than do.

If it was a car -- Island Cruiser.
If they were passing by -- Don Letts.

Like Broadway in the 2010s, Hamilton remains the big name in Felixstowe. Second, like Southwold in the 1930s, is possibly Orwell. We're talking roads, of course, specifically the A1021 that joins Garrison Lane in the west to Ranelagh Road in the east. Should you need evidence of time passing, try finding previously visited eateries along Orwell Road such as Comptons or Lillie's or Sangha or Silks.

Yet they keep coming, the latest being the floral Little Dreams which replaced the veritable Polish Hut mid 2024. Andy's nabbed a nice spot on Inspector Brownlow Road: that free hour will easily be enough, right? We're all set to sit outside on their solitary table-for-two when spots become free inside, a nifty window seat with a full frontal view of the Greenhouse Cafe.

Chocka in here with sketches of sweet treats on the wall. Time to order drinks at the counter first, so that'll be a medicinal cherry Dr Pepper for Andy and a fruity Tango Mango (a play on the 1971 album by Can?) for me. Yes, we're that sophisticated. There's more than one unfortunate apostrophe on view -- "jacket potato's" / "panini's" -- but we'll let that go. Half-hour wait on food, says the slightly harassed woman, if that's OK? That'll be fine, I say, and return to a seated position.

Great to have a catch-up after a few weeks. We've mostly caught up by the time the drinks arrive, and scratching around a bit when the same woman approaches our table to say she's now preparing our lunch. The girl who'd taken my order had to leave at 2pm for another job leaving only one poor person to do the lot. Into that second hour when food thankfully appears, and it's decent: chunky coronation chicken sandwich for YT and, unsurprisingly, the all-day breakfast bap (item number one on the menu) including hash brown for The Yorkshire Lad.

Now into our second hour and, with one of us due back in the office, there ain't no time to use their ice cream factory. Splending cake selection, though: takeaway flat white finished on the return journey before I very much enjoyed my white choc brownie in my ergonomic swivel chair.

If it was a car -- 2016 DS from Dreams Car, Slough.
If they were passing by -- Gabrielle.

You don't really expect too much of a Wednesday, I'd hazard. Great to get past the working week halfway point, obvs, but anything else is a Brucie bonus. Then Andy declared himself free post-physio and there we were at 12:45pm driving at 90 down country lanes like my platinum-selling namesake. Not noticed that before, he said, as we took the Wickham Market exit, entered Pettistree and both spotted a hard-to-miss pink BAKERY sign. Off we turned by some classy lower-case lettering: "eat. move. breathe." I endorse that message.

Parked on the gravel at the rear of the ex-Three Tuns pub, I felt like Mr Jones: something is happening here but I don't know what it is. Under the pergola and leaflets galore offer a wealth of wellbeing events including a "turning towards the light" thing this coming solstice weekend with market stalls, flower creations and chef Robbie. Thankfully in the next room we beheld loaves and pastries courtesy of Harvey & Co 'cos it seems that vida.haus (no, nor me) is their bakery outlet.

Any savoury? Not a lot, said the super-friendly lady, but I can do you a couple of special toasties if you like. I'll bring them out. Most pleasant out there on a shaded picnic bench sipping my cola, and even more so when she presented us with our roast veg and cheese goodies. Yum, indeed. Couple of other folk hereabouts but none too busy, though I gather that might all change when they start using that fancy wooden outbuilding as a restaurant. She showed us some Instagram photos from a celebrated local cook: reader, neither of us knew that name. Bet it'll be good, though.

My card paid for the firsts so Andy's turn for the seconds. He emerged with a slice of bakewell and a "kouign-amman", a Breton laminated dough pastry similar to a croissant. Both first rate, ditto the cortado. Add vida.haus to the hidden gems list that includes Pinch and Hype.

If it was a car -- Viva E Coupe.
If they were passing by -- Melissa Barrera.

Creeps up on you, that musical event for which you think you bought a ticket some time back. Yes, you did, fully twelve months ago, you early bird. Here we go round again at Brighten The Corners, the town's own multi-venue festival of new music (so nearly all people you've never heard of) following the successes of 2024 and 2023.

Bag check: leaflet with full schedule; bottle of strawberry Yazoo; glasses; mini Soreen loaf; pack of Softmints; house and bike keys.

Day 1 -- Friday (hot with thunderstorm from 11pm)

• (18:10) Disgusting Sisters at The Baths -- we kick off with two young women, a-shoutin' and a-singin', killing it with their choreography, exterior pants and a shared hairstyle worryingly close to my retired neighbour
• (18:35) Monster Florence at St Stephen's -- queued five mins to join 240 capacity in thrall to assorted men with hats (with live backing) rappin' and stirrin' up the crowd
• (18:45) The Pill at Smokehouse -- queued ten mins for hot new medicinal band then gave up
• (19:40) Pencil at St Stephen's -- arrived for soundcheck; first violin of the evening; thought sound balance much improved when the guitars dropped out
• (19:35) Lime Garden at Corn Exchange -- in to big hall for closing couple of tracks from all-female line-up creating a big sound; charismatic frontwoman
• (20:10) JD Cliffe at The Baths -- main character rap energy in shiny hat, Um/Bro jacket, a dervish in dark glasses, again with guitar guys: "I'll come here again: have you got a beach?"
• (20:45) Deadletter at Corn Exchange -- serious chaps laying down a commanding beat, oh, and a guy on sax; fronted by a hard-working bloke in an unironic vest and a guitarist giving it some
• (21:05) Deary at The Baths -- sweet and ethereal female guitarist; accompanied by a lady clearly here to chew gum and play guitar; pleasing palate cleanser and well received
• (22:05) Sholto at The Baths -- I spy a cello; very hard to miss that huge harp; great shame to leave them after their opening lush number
• (22:40) Richard Dawson at St Stephen's -- determined to be front and centre for the man from Mizu who I'd seen in Folkestone last month; that nasty-looking ACL injury perhaps prevented him from being electrocuted by his split water; somehow he stood for the mighty Jogging, then back on chair for the timeless Horse & Rider, and off to Swan for hydration with friend PSR

Day 2 -- Saturday (hot and dry)

• (15:35) Ellis D at The Baths -- fabulous Brighton combo; loud and quiet bits appropriate for 3:30pm; riffs, smiles and false endings galore
• (16:35) Y at The Baths -- "We forgive you for Ed Sheeran", they said; heavy on the sax and with a cool blonde in shades surrounded by the inevitable guys on guitars
• (17:00) Kirakira at Cornhill -- mellow open-air sounds from her on the acoustic and him on the Harman keys
• (17:35) Waldo's Gift at The Baths -- three piece, I think, with one of them telling their full origin story at length before launching their glitching guitar hero histrionics
• (18:25) Miss Tiny at Smokehouse -- once again waiting outside in unmoving Smokehouse queue so settled for hearing River Hands through the fire exit door
• (18:35) The Orchestra For Now at St Stephen's -- seven of them on that small stage inc. two-piece string section to bring us some excellent chamber pop a la Black Country, New Road
• (19:20) Silverwingkiller at Smokehouse -- ordered my lamb skewer gyros from the Greek guy by the Giles statue and, hearing that would take half an hour, biked off to the Smokehouse where I finally gained admission only to last perhaps ten minutes of pulsing industrial hammmer synths
• (20:50) Gruff Rhys at Corn Exchange -- American Interior PowerPoint presentation, why not, from the ex-Super Furry guy in the cap, telling the story of fictional 18th century John Evans seeking Welsh connections in USA; most odd and kind of weird to see friend PSR on stage playing a Canadian assassin

...and still missed corto.alto, Bob Vylan and Mermaid Chunky

Rather tired and cycling home up Portman Road I noticed I wasn't in the bike lane. Corrected that then realised I'd moved out again. Got off my bike, wheeled it across the road, and sat down on the pavement, suddenly sweaty. Decided to fully lay down to get head level with heart. Felt much improved after five minutes in a fully horizontal postiion. One passing guy enquired as to my health: ah, dizzy, he said, gave me a thumbs-up and carried on.

ITFC may be back in the old division 2 but Brighten The Corners remains a *PREM* music festival.