It happened the other evening when I recalled a dear old friend sending a poignant little message to the heart of my reputation as a fair-minded if rather entrenched sort of chap.

He wrote: “I have just completed 50 years as a resident Norfolk probationer. Can I now have my Norfolk passport, please?”. I was flattered to be asked but had to confess such a prize was not in my gift.

A full session of the Norfolk Passport Applications Committee was due to sit at a secret log-cabin destination somewhere close to Thetford Chase on a date to be fixed in late November.

It is believed this official ritual continues to this day in the name of harmony and hope.

My chum’s credentials as a useful and honorary citizen for half-a-century should have been strong enough to see him safely into the hallowed fold. I’ve known a few others get there in half the time, particularly during an era when newcomers came close to being appointed bosom pals after discerning locals agreed to “summer ‘an winter ‘em first” before swinging the gate open.

Good-natured exchanges on this subject have punctuated my working and social life since I........

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