THE START OF AN ADVENTURE (continued)

The A12 took us through many villages with strange names that still elude me. Dave had insisted we didn't need a map; he soon changed his mind when we came upon a roundabout that had been signposted by an idiot. We did a few laps, and eventually chose, more by luck than good judgment, the right exit.

Again, many a weird name flashed by, this journey being an exercise in guesswork. After just over 3 hours and 150+ miles we entered the picturesque village of Blytheburgh. 

I had arranged for B&B in what turned out to be the only tavern in the town, The White Hart, which was situated right on the A12 itself. We pulled off and into a very spacious and well-kept car park, which was quite full, but this was mainly due to the England/Argentina match which was still in progress. 

We entered the Inn, and made our way through dozens of well-lubricated supporters. Luckily England were a goal in front so there were smiles from these strangers not animosity. We eventually reached the bar, and the priority was to re-hydrate with a pint of the local brew. Soon our tongues were returned to their normal state after being like a couple of pieces of blotting paper. The match still had about 30 minutes to go when we arrived, so talking was not on the agenda.

Getting a pint was pretty hard work. The only active member of staff serving the brew was also a big footie fan, so it was only during quiet moments that we could attract her attention. The staff were a really nice friendly and helpful crew, as were some of the locals who were not too taken with the match. One chap, Tom, an Irishman of many summers, gave us a rundown of the local history of the area, and kept complaining about his beer, but only after he'd drunk about 90% of the glass. A good move, he must have paid for only a couple during the hour we chatted.