Theres something so right about driving through the sleepy villages of Suffolk with the acapella version of “Forward to death” on full volume (“I can’t stand this way of life, I can’t stand your attitude”). Streets which, incidentally, seemed to be teeming with ambulances. Either everyones waited until spring before getting injured or they’re emptying out another of the local hospitals.
Sudbury is a small unremarkable Suffolk town. Just another slice of rural life, redeemed somewhat by a good (relatively) record and music shop. Theres a market square, which has now been taken over by an incredible ‘mine is bigger than yours’ one-way system (a system which seems to have permeated the entire town) and the inevitable car parking. And a few odds and ends of interesting buildings from the times when the market was important to the town.
I found what I’d expected to be a greasy spoon, down by the bus station, opposite the job centre – its got all the right proximities – only to find it run by a couple of turks who’d dropped out of the late night kebab market to sell surprisingly ungreasy chips and coffee that actually tasted a little of coffee. But the minor improvements in food hadn’t done much for the clientelle, who were, it seems, all rather concerned about whether they could afford a plate of chips…
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