After a day of CAKE and BOOZE on Saturday, Sunday was in need of some exercise.
Anna and I cycled off to Harwich, rather unsure of what we might find.
We have heard tales of Old Harwich, a charming Edwardian town with an arty slant.
That sounds a little too close to home...
Plus also the other Harwich, canonised by London cycling friends who head east en route to the cycling promised land of the Netherlands.
What we found was a bit meh.
That's slightly unfair.
The ride out east was fine. We are getting to the point in the season where these longer rides become a chore rather than an escape.
I was wearing thick tights and two lycra layers. I was still chilled for most of the ride.
We stopped off at Dovercourt for a cup of tea, with Felixstowe and the heavy docks just in sight around the corner.
And then a final push along the sea wall to the old town.
A bloody great big shipping container was setting sail, loaded up with what looked like bloody Pop Brixton on Sea.
Surely they couldn't be exporting UK goods?
And then Old Harwich.
It was a little odd to be honest.
The town has clearly seen better days, but that perhaps is the charm.
We were both too knackered to cycle back, and so had already settled on the train. But we got the timings all wrong, meaning that we had another hour or so of wandering.
Chips by the water front were a welcome distraction.
And that was about it.
The journey back via Manningtree, then Colchester was smooth.
The temptation back at base was to just doze off in front of the football.
It was 2-1 to Newcastle when I made the decision to do a bit of digging outside whilst the weather was still holding.
An hour later and it was 6-2.
I fell asleep in the bath listening to The Jam's The Gift.
I've no idea why I chose to listen to this, but it was a decent choice, all the same.
The slumber was more to do with my aching limbs than the music.
The rest of Sunday evening was spent catching up with Music for Misfits on the iPlayer.