over the pond.

Last week I took a train across the country to go stay with Adam in his sleepy seaside town, Felixstowe. As it is (somehow, crazily!) one of the last times I will see him until Christmas, I thought I'd bring my little samsung camera to document it. Despite the not-so-summery weather, it was a lovely week. Much to Adam's delight, I have a weird obsession with Felixstowe, having been landlocked for my entire life, and I love all the ridiculously English features and the way everything is just so... Felixstowe. It's hard to describe it, but it has its own atmosphere. I love everything about it, from the dodgy pier, arcades and Band Box to the string of worn, balamory-style beach huts along the sea front.

As this is my fourth visit, we have settled into a routine. We tend to walk all the way to the docks...



...beautiful.

And then walk the opposite direction to the ferry to get chips and tea.





Though this time we managed to get a lift to the cafe, so instead of being so exhausted by the walk that we just eat chips and then turn around and walk back, we wandered down through the fields by the Orwell River. When I first found out that Adam lived in Suffolk, I imagined rolling fields and farmland, so this felt much more like Suffolk!




Our exploring got us slightly lost and a kindly farmer pointed out that we probably should have stuck to the path! We ended up having to jump across a boggy ditch to get back to the golf course and, in time, back to the town.

Of course we also always spend time at the beach. We even went for a scarily expensive glass of wine at the Fludyer's Arms, a pub on the seafront, feeling a lot more classy than our usual Felixstowe nights out!




I absolutely adore Adam's green stripy beach hut, and on one of the few sunny days I dragged him there to go for a freezing but fun swim.





My final day fell on Adam's mum's birthday, so we hauled ourselves out of bed before midday and wandered over to the beach hut to join his parents for bacon and sausages and a glacial morning dip. It was like something out of 'About Time', the sea was completely still, the sun was softly shining and all of us were camped out on rusty deckchairs with cups of tea. Adam and I played a couple of aggressive games of swingball and he skimmed stones with his dad. It really was the perfect start to the day and end to my trip, lounging in a faded beach hut with a paper looking over a gorgeous sea view.

It hasn't hit me yet that these moments with Adam really are some of the last for a long time. Even though it is now less than two weeks until we fly out, it still doesn't feel real no matter how much we talk about it. Next year, next year, next year, that's how we refer to it. But it's not next year, it's this year, it's this month, and soon it'll be this week. And then, without warning, we'll be in America, thousands of miles apart. And I'll be dreaming of this week with my wonderful boyfriend in this very British seaside town and all our conversations sitting on the boardwalk or in the beach hut or drinking overpriced orange juice at The Alex. I'll remember the little birthday party in the Sunday sunshine and being held by Adam in the sea as he shivered and pulled faces.

We didn't doing anything big or special, no wild farewell pub crawl (that's next week!), no sombre goodbye meal, we just enjoyed being us in a place we both love.

Until next time, Felixstowe.