— The Canteen —

Continuing the Aldeburgh symmetry, we're once again kicking things off slightly out of town. Highly rated, says Andy, as we emerge from a side street to behold the smart Canteen. Part of the old town hospital, to the rear is the library and to the front is the eatery. In we go, and I'm immediately starstruck by the presence of Mr Simon M*yo on my immediate left. And that must be the good lady ceramicist her-indoors sat opposite. Should have realised that the Wittertainment summer cruise docks in upmarket Southwold.

We grab a large Aperol-shaded picnic table out front and, scanning the specials, I hear my name. If it isn't Adrian, fellow would-be scribe and breakfast bike ride comrade. Before I know it he's off to say hi to a nearby woman. That's Tracy Macleod, he tells me, ex-Late Show presenter and restaurant critic. Bonus for me is that she once appeared on Sean's Show. Everyone's here.

Excellent menu includes courgette tart, naked oat risotto, baked leek, etc. I"m starting small with a sumptuous starter of soft-boiled egg, m*yo (of course) and anchovy -- while Andy being Andy opts for a full main course of Cromer crab remoulade with cabbage and kohlrabi. Classiest community caff we've ever frequented.

— Bloomcore —

Opposite The Canteen stands the mighty (Grade I) St Edmund church. Through the graveyard brings us to Bartholomew Green, not another Salford media type but a peaceful back street. Adnams, who seem ubiquitous hereabouts, have their beer shop by here. I suggest we take liquid refreshment at the florist. Flowers on one side, Fentimans and Frobishers on the other plus a small selection of cakes.

I very much like that Bloomcore name, sounding as it does like a weird sub-genre of horticultural heavy metal. Cute table-for-two outside, as per St Nicholas Sandwich Shop, and a decent setting to sip a can o' Chocomel. Shame about that Border Bus blocking our view which is decidedly stationary: note that Southwold station closed way way back in 1929.

— Cornish Bakery —

Come 2pm Andy's led us on a detour to view the Electric Picture Palace, the town's very own "not just a cinema" opened by that Michael Palin back in 2002. Showing tonight? Death At A Funeral (2007) with Matthew Macfadyen. I could eat a pasty, I say, just as the Cornish Bakery shows itself. No choice, then, but to cross High Street. Only later did I realise that my subconscious had obviously seen the cinema as a pastiche of the 1912 original.

Savoury for me: a National Trust-esque spiced cauliflower pasty, warmed. Sugary for him: a bronut. Not a brioche/donut but a brownie/donut. Your bakers were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should. Not as sweet as I expected, says Andy, once more soaking up the East Coast sun while I wince slightly at the strengh of my miniature piccolo coffee and at details of my companion's upcoming Parkinson's surgery. Were they oligarchs? he asked as some intriguing accents strolled past us.

— Suzie's Beach Cafe —

We need to get some steps in, I said, before I can possibly eat anything else. No stopping for us at Duchies nor the Tiptree Tea Room nor the Black Olive Deli nor Squiers. Right-ish down Queen Street and left at The Red Lion and down to the prom-diddly-prom. Nothing apparently to our right so left we head. Ooh, nice beach huts hereabouts, and there's that DJ-turned-author again. Walking towards us is friend and neighbour Sarah: did I mention that absolutely everyone is here today?

Here's Suzie's Beach Cafe which they say does an extremely good bacon and runny egg bap. Can't quite face that. Andy queues and orders me a pistachio ice cream (cone) and himself a pear and vanilla flavour which, he's told, has to be served in a tub. Two chaps in their late 50s then take a pew on the edge of the prom to enjoy their ices.

— Boating Lake Tearoom —

Up with a creak then a lazy promenade along the promenade admiring the odd game of beach cricket and the occasional sandcastle creation. Plethora of scoff places on the pier, a favourite location of my mum's with the kids. I felt the need to take a look at the George Orwell mural having been here in July 2014 when Pure Evil, the artist, was at work. Still good.

Beyond the pier, huge rooftop letters are calling to us: TEA ROOM. Yes, we've reached the Boating Lake and yet again they're offering all sorts of treats (home-made battenberg!) that our stomachs can't stomach. Took a relaxing table on the verandah to take tea -- sophisticated Andy the Earl Grey, philistine me the English breakfast -- and observe the kiddies in their self-powered side-rotor boats. Took me back to the covered boating lake in Kensington Gardens in lovely Lowestoft. Andy, with a better view than me, sees and hears those same potential oligarchs at another table. If they're following us, it's out of curiosity to see how much we can put away this afternoon.

— Two Magpies —

Half-four now, my kind of time, and I wouldn't usually celebrate the fact that many places are either closing or closed. However, we noted much earlier that Two Magpies on the High Street reliably shuts at 5pm and we might just make it. Hello, North Parade, Hi, lighthouse.

Ten-to-five when we reach it and signs are being brought in but yes, the guy says we can take a seat inside if we don't mind them tidying up around us. That fifteen minute walk from the seafront has freed up sufficient space for a big slice of tiramisu, shared, and a final coupla drinks. Sensible ginger beer for the driver and a large takeaway latte for YT. First time for me here at what I believe is the original 2M branch. Ambitious, you'll now find their shops in Darsham, Woodbridge, Beccles and Framlingham and a handful over the border in N*rfolk.

And yes, I did forget to take a Two Magpies snap so that's a Lego version of the Team GB logo spotted in a Southwold window. Good work, all concerned.