Week to go before December but Christmas had already arrived at Mrs Simpson's Tea Rooms: miniature tree, gaudy baubles, reindeer, the Yuletide works. No turkey dinners going as far as I could see, though loads of choice on the menu. Had to send away the efficient solitary waitress while I prevaricated. Eyes got stuck on one particular item: "just a potato".

Walked in and felt like we'd stepped into a gathering place for the Felixstowe Rotary. Not too many folks present here in gainful employment. Factor in the attractive stained glass and olde worlde ambience, and I was compelled to order two poached eggs on toast. With a vanilla milkshake. Comfort food by the Cotman Hall.

Whatever they're doing here (named after The Mrs Simpson, who killed time in Felixstowe before she could divorce and marry King Ted 8), it's clearly working. Despite being out of the way -- see map -- the Tea Rooms were buzzing. Newspapers yes, free tables no. We secured a prime window seat, ideal on a drizzly day for idly watching the waves and distant rainclouds. Hello sea, hello sky. Look, there's Sealand!

Finally caught the young lady's eye to secure pudd: a large filter coffee (don't embarrass yourself asking for a latte: this is 1956) with a tiny jug of impossibly hot milk, plus a slice of sponge named after an actual queen. As so often happens on these Friday trips, what a drag to head back to work.

If it was a car -- Wolseley Six.
If they were passing by -- Geraldine McEwan.