It had been a cold night, the tent was wet with condensation, there was sand everywhere and after three days without a shower things in my tiny tent were getting a bit grim. I rose early and packed up, keen not to be discovered in the dunes by inquisitive dogs and their owners. Arriving late and exhausted hadn't given me the opportunity to look around Southwold so I decided to head into town. The first person I met that day walking his two dogs offered a clipped but friendly 'good morning'; I decided he must be a retired major or some such. Southwold was fairly empty at this time, the eerily perfect village greens and chocolate box houses lent it a Portmeirion fell. I imagined myself as Patrick McGoohan from the Prisoner, and the spooky perfection made me want to deliberately transgress just to see what would happen. I briefly considered pitching my tent bang in the middle of the green to see if the big bouncing white ball would appear to squash me; more likely it would be the busy body old lady and the 'major' who run the town council who would tell me my sort weren't welcome here and ask me to move on. I briefly admired the Adnams brewery buildings - they were already alive and buzzing, the forklifts buzzing around the town centre delivering raw materials from one part of the brewery to another. This must be one of the few British breweries which is directly in the middle of a town, and as a result Adnams have been able to capitalise on tourism with brewery tours etc. Unfortunately, they weren't running at 7am. Southwold is a beautiful place, but to me it had the feel of somewhere which has been loved to death and is no longer real - full of wealthy retirees, and London stockbrokers on holiday.
2.
Making the detour around the mouth of the River Blyth to cross on the footbridge restored my confidence in the area a little; the boatyards, chandlers, local fishing boats and quayside fishmongers had none of Southwold's gloss and the place was a hive of activity. I decided to follow the River Blyth upstream. A lovely walk through marshes and woodland took me to Blythburgh where I stopped for a break at the local church which looked particularly grand and it was a real treat. Like many churches in the UK it was unlocked, with no-one around, and visitors were more than welcome to look around. The beautiful wooden roof and 'priest hole' were fascinating, the size and ornateness of the building for such a small village illustrate well the wealth which once flowed into this area from lucrative agriculture.
3.
The walk from Blythburgh to Halesworth following the River Blyth upstream was lovely - the small river meandered through lush green meadows, interspersed with native hedgerows and woodland. The paths here were not well maintained; this was the first time I had walked on regular footpaths and not marked long-distance tracks. At one point, I became lost and failed to find the riverside path, only to discover further along that it was actually closed due to flooding and damage - a lucky mistake. I was feeling very tired and desperately in need of a shower; the map showed very few options walking on from Halesworth (apart from the road); Halesworth had a train station, so I decided to finish the walk and catch the train back to my car at Diss.
4.
I was tired as I walked through fields on the outskirts of the town. I was surprised to look up and see a large black dog bounding towards me. I looked at it to try to gauge it's intentions - tongue out panting or teeth bared and snarling ? It certainly wasn't panting, and whilst it wasn't snarling as such it did look reasonably aggressive so I opted for showing it the foot. It pulled up and had a couple of cracks at me while I waved my foot around fending it off with some success. I should say i'm not much of a dog person (although I get along with them fine), but when the owner came up I politely suggested that she should keep her dog on the lead and walked off thinking that was that. As I was walking along the high street to the station five minutes later, an old pickup truck pulled up. The driver wound down the window and politely asked me if i'd just been attacked by a dog. I said I had, and before I knew it the guy entered into a tirade of expletives and abuse. My two attempts to suggest that the dog should be on a lead and that I had been nothing but polite with (as it turned out) his wife were clearly not getting through and were met with more effing and blinding. I could see the red mist had descended and there was no reasoning with him, but feeling like I was the one who had been wronged I offered him a two finger salute before walking off. For a second I thought it was going to get nasty - he was a big bloke and started getting out of the car - but he obviously thought better of it and drove off. Feeling a little shaken up, I headed to the station only to discover the next train wasn't for 3 hours. I really didn't want to hang out in Haylesworth any longer than I had to but I bided the time with a pint and the newspaper at the local pub.
5.
So, that was it. When I set out, I wanted to see the beautiful pastoral landscape of 'Constable country' and learn to saunter with Henry David Thoreau. Although I had covered more miles than a saunterer typically would, and my body ached as a result, I did feel as though my lightweight method of travelling, bivouacing, and lack of fixed plans had allowed me to really experience Suffolk. Sure, I had discovered a decent slice of Constable country, and my appetite for green fields and hedgerows, woodlands and songbirds, quaint villages and country pubs had been sated. But i'd also visited places down on their luck, even in this beautiful part of the world. Lowestoft and Haylesworth were doing it hard in the recession without a doubt. I'd met plenty of people on my walk - both friendly and interesting as well as angry and narrow minded. Of course, at the end I realised that although England "is" beautiful countryside and small villages populated with friendly locals, it is just as much scruffy unloved Lowestoft, and massive industrial farmscapes, and 'loved to death' Southwold, and the man in Halesworth angry at the world and everyone in it. When all's said and done, I loved Suffolk (warts and all), and i'll certainly go back to explore more.
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