Remains of a 10th century church. Over 300 graves. Evidence of leprosy. There is both life and death on the Ipswich waterfront. Around Stoke Quay and Great Whip Street at the mo' is one mahoosive building site. It's going to be like something out of Poltergeist for the lucky inhabitants of these new flats, living on top of those burial mounds. Are they here? They're here, alright.

Head inland one more road and you'll find Gower Street, in which locale our Andy -- with eagle eyes that actually move -- has spotted a new eatery. There's a doorway, perhaps a mystic portal, near the old Silver Star pub, though we're parked by the back door among the industrial units. Full name of this place, if you're ready, is Wigglywoo's Craft Emporium. Combine (a) Mr Ranks and (b) Nile Rodgers and you'd arrive at WCE's USP, i.e. shabby chic. Sitting square and centre among the cards and candles are some chairs and tables handmade for ourselves.

It's East Coast Quilting all over again, since aside from a small pack of Ritz biscuits, there's no savoury items: cue John Shuttleworth's Can't Go Back song. Like the dressers surrounding us, we're distinctly distressed. Adapting quickly, we order coffee and cake, like that could ever hope to make up for it, narf. Iced Victoria sponge more than does the job, and that's a half-decent latte too. Lady says they're getting some healthy hot beverage trade from all the hard-hats in the vicinity. Meantime, Andy, being Andy, is enquiring about the fabric workshops.

Putting some yards between us and all those precious items, us men need protein. Along Stoke Quay, right at Dingus Khan's Steamboat and past Tastyfill in the maltings takes us up to the end of Bulstrode Road. Behold, Best Burger! Mr Wimpy is sitting in his car 'cos it's too chilly in the van, but happily steps back inside to prep us some bacon rolls. Salad? Yep. Cheese. Yep. BBQ sauce? Why the heckington not? Return to the car for our hot 'n' meaty eats and we're transported back some six years to an outing with Grenvyle to The Bounty, where we took our fish 'n' chips down to the Felixstowe docks viewpoint (long before the View Point Cafe). No distant waves or monolithic container ships visible through the windscreen today. Purely the unalloyed joy of the A137 sweeping majestically past Uncle Tom's Cabin. Larkin could have penned a verse about this very view. Really good bacon rolls, too.

If it was a car -- Caterham 21.
If they were passing by -- Neil Buchanan.