When you've "done" all the teashops in Woodbridge AND Felixstowe, it's time to branch out to where Charlie from Busted went to school: welcome to Framlingham.

All the places below (and more besides) *should* be found on Andy's "Cafes East Of Ipswich" map.

To date reviews are as listed:

• 221B
• Bridge Street Cafe replaced by the Common Room
• Carley & Webb — gone 2010
• Dancing Goat
• Kitty's, gone 2013
• No 10 Teashop
• Paddy And Scott's

Know anymore? Get in touch.

Been a month since we, the Gruesome Threesome, last "did" a proper teashop. Not that all those chippies weren't enjoyable, but man cannot live on breaded scampi alone. Only right, then, to take advantage of the falling fuel prices and face Framwards, yours truly at the Scenic wheel.

Lovely day on Market Hill, plus free parking if you can nab a spot, and there's plenty of punters enjoying goat's cheese goujons outside the Dancing Goat. Ain't No Sunshine for us, however, much like that infamous duck in the microwave, Bill Withers: we're set on filling our collective belly inside the Carley & Webb deli. Squint at that small photo and you may spot a side-on sign advertising the cafe within these Withers walls.

Through the blue door and there, adroit, are some tables, about four of 'em laid out in a 2x2 formation. It's obvious from the galumphing machine that coffee is available; it's less clear that Country & Western offer a limited range of sandwiches and quiche. That bijou selection simplifies the whole decision-making process: ham and Suffolk pickle sarnie, if you please, and a bottle of Fentiman's. Any crisps? Help yourself, says the lady, pointing to another part of the shop. And so we do, grabbing a monster bag of kettle chips, a satisfyingly and sizeable salty starter.

Since the same people are (a) waiting at tables, (b) serving deli customers and (c) prep-ing our food, something's gotta give, and everybody suffers a tad. Ample time to flick through the Framnews (ads for life coaches and tarot readers: wot no EADT), glance at the "No Signal" message on my T-Mobile, and to observe the unsubtle Paddy & Scott's branding, the Earl Soham folk who also cater to Kitty's down the hill. Food, when it comes, is lovely, as you'd hope, well presented, and gone in a flash.

Coffee also commended. Lemon drizzle cake generously proportioned, unlike the cafe part of this establishment. Maybe the atmosphere would benefit from a comfy sofa, a newspaper or two and a slight softening around the edges: the potential is there.

If it was a car -- Innocenti Mini.
If they were passing by -- Edward Woodward.

Last season, Defiants had finished comfortably top of div 3; tonight's opponents, Rosary Yellow, nee Norbridge Mallards (keep up), had finished comfortably bottom of div 1. We'd gone up, they'd come down, so this season finds us both trying to find our be-trainer-ed feet in div 2. Have to say I wasn't optimistic: they'd walloped us when last we played. Don't think I got a single point off 'em.

Pleasing, then, to go 2-0 up, Red Bull Rob deucing past Ardal O'Hanlon while Andy out-battered Ol' Bob. Up to me, sadly, to let the side down -- in a game between a Broom and a Heath, the latter had the 'edge. Only then did my experimental Lucozade Citrus Fruit Hydro Active kick in, hydrating me to an unlikely victory against out-of-form Ardal and hypotonically inducing an even-less-likely win against Sideburns Bob. Possibly the sips of fiery Jamaican Ginger Beer and the smell of fried chicken helped too.

Bob robbed Rob, leaving the coruscating Cassy to cruise to his first maximum of the season and guarantee his coveted place in the doubles. I nominated myself as his partner and we strode to our first pairs win of the year. That means we've played 5, for 25, against 25: we're mean, median and mode. We'll more than settle for mid-table mediocrity.

It isn't that there are no more tea shops, you understand; it's simply that the unreviewed places are getting further away. Despite what you may think -- indeed, what you may have been led to believe -- Friday lunchtime is not, alas, infinitely expandable. There's all manner of dead important conference calls to attend, and traffic lights to monitor, and timesheets to fill in. Be told.

Now we're kicking in the same hymnsheet, you'll appreciate why chippies are now the order du jour:

• two weeks ago -- double fish cake al fresco at J's
• one week ago -- pie palaver portside at The Bounty
• this week -- golden nuggets at Melton Fish Bar (see map)

Speedy sunny chauffeured saunter through Woodbridge (hello Notcutts, hello Whistlestop, hello Riverside) takes us onto Melton Hill, past Melton Antiques on Melton Hill and over the lights into Melton, burial place of the Wicked Witch Of The West. Takes a bit of thought, that one. There's 'andy free parking round the back, then a short stroll to the enviable address that is 1 Station Road. On the corner you'll find both the Melton Fish Bar and Melton Pizza, home of the heatwave. Pizza takeaway was closed: no pepperoni for us.

Grenvyle's fish was ready there and then; he'd snarfed down half his lunch before my freshly prep-ed chicken nuggets were handed over. If there's 15 battered sausages forlornly lined up, does it mean they sell (a) very few or (b) loads? Meantime I was anxiously eyeing the 25p non-Heinz sauce portion before spotting the free squirty stuff on the counter: that's more like it.

Away we trogged with our reassuringly strong paper bags, wondering where best to park ourselves. It'd be wrong to throw that granny off her bench. Into motor and down to a bench on Kingston Fields, The Pavilion a mere goalie's kick away. As always, what a luxury to sit in the sun shovelling in hot unwrapped chips, esp. when they're that good.

If it was a car -- Volkswagen Touran.
If they were passing by -- Mick Inkpen.

Word got out that LB2 -- London Based Lady Boss -- was due to do a Bob Hope and visit the troops, the minions, the munchkins. Hopes were vertiginous that she might, pinkies crossed, come bearing gifts, following on from the team building triumph that was Doughnut Day.

It happened that I was first through the office door today, arriving just gone 7am. OK, don't believe me. Found it a little hard to believe myself, not only the unlikely time but that others were up and at it so early: they have buses in the middle of the night?

Hence the l-o-n-g wait until LB2 turned up around half nine: wot no bag? Nooooooooooo. Then a Blainesque shimmy and out of the much too small rucksack emerged A Box. Not just A Box, dear reader, but a snazzy "limited edition" box. Those workaholic boys and gals in the Krispy Kreme lab have devised the "chocolate carnival" for us, a grateful and salivating public.

Returned from teapoint with aroma-tastic cafetiere, opened lid to secure a chocolate original, and man oh man, that sure did hit .. the .. spot. From here on in, you may address me as Chief Wiggum.

Last week's opponents, the B52s, should never have let slip that they'd whitewashed tonight's opponents, the Kites. Given that (a) we beat the B52s, and (b) they took all the points against the Kites, it followed that (c) we would trounce the Kites. This, my ping pong pals, would be a walk in the park, a stroll on the prom, a picnic in the woods.

Little did we know that the park would appear very different after sunset, the prom would be dashed by high waves and the woods would be riddled with ghoulies and ghosties and hard-hitting beasties:

• Blank Brian bamboozled Kev but was battered by Ed and Rob
• Kwiksilver Kumar blew away Kev and Ed but blew out against Rob
• Kreaky Ken demonstrated himself to be the duke of digging-in by beating Kev in three, Rob in four and Ed in five

And this trio garnered a big fat zero against the B52s? Let's go fly a Kite, indeed.

Ever tried to find an open chippy in the Trimley locale gone 10:30pm on a wintry Monday? Don't waste your time. More than once Team Defiants, in dire need of fried food, has scoured the length of the High Road from St Martin to St Mary and up to Garrison Lane, passing one closed hot potato emporium after another. More than once said Team has ultimately settled on the ever reliable Bodrum Grill, the East Coast equivalent of Aberystwyth's 24 hour whelk stall.

Now, in windstruck daylight, we've taken the High Road West (see map) to sample the battered offerings at The Bounty, a self-proclaimed award winning takeaway. Their name often crops up on local newspaper Best Chippy lists and they're the proud owners of a Seafish Friers Quality Award, "nationally recognised for producing first class fish and chips". They don't give those awards away just for the halibut, skidoosh.

Light 'n' bright interior has a handful of smart blue seats if you're waiting: we'll be having ours to go, ta very much. Pukka pie, please, and chips, and mushy peas, and a bottle of cherry Coke. That Jamie off the telly would be proud. Ooh, and a Heinz ketchup: 20p here compared to 15p at J's. Andy's pleased to see cod roe on the menu; Grenvyle's drowning his peas in Sarson's. Back into the motor to find a picture-skew picnic location.

Which is how we found ourselves at the dock viewpoint by the Crow's Nest. Only a five minute wait before we landed a coveted front row seat: once you've got one of those sugar spots, you don't move. In hindsight, a chicken and mushroom pie wasn't the most sensible option when armed only with a wooden chipfork, never mind the mushy peas, as the Pistols said. And apologies, Andy, for the tomato sauce stain, should you find it. Very decent nosh.

If it was a car -- Mazda3 5 Door Hatchback.
If they were passing by -- Mick Aston.