I have a great friend who insists on living in Italy, even though he is possibly the most English Englishman I've ever met. Although very happy to be with his gorgeous wife on a mountain top in Piedmont, he is continually homesick for the hidden pleasures of England. So I frequently rub it in by sending him pictures like this one of an abandoned boat on the shore just south of the quay in Orford, Suffolk, knowing it will send him into decline for a few hours. He loves, as I do, the flotsam and jetsam of maritime life. Once you get past the all-pervading weekend cottaging atmosphere of red-brick and pantiled Orford, the waterfront still reminds us of why it's all really here. Black tarred huts sell fresh fish, oily hawsers lie on the shingle. And an old pleasure cruiser creakily sighs as each tide gently nudges at its peeling decay.