We actually manage to sail or motor-sail most of the way back to Ipswich and are feeling pretty smug with ourselves as no longer East Coast virgins. Waiting outside the lock and our smugness is repaid with a torrential downpour of such ferocity and rapidity that it gives no time for waterproofs and in any case, by the time they are on you are wet through to underwear anyway. The two brave men in our little company wave Chris and Yee Tak off in a taxi rather than get wet and spend a happy evening in Issacs on Albion Wharf. It was an old malt-house with parts dating back 4 centuries or more. The best part however was the discovery of the Briarbank micro-brewery next door enabling us to try a selection paddle of 6 beers and ales between us (just drowning our sorrows at the absence of our nearest and dearest of course).