I ought to be used to it by now after decades of ploughing unfashionable furrows and regularly accepting the role of anachronism in a modern media world along the international super-highway

Why on earth should anyone prefer to get stuck down a hemlock-choked country lane exchanging droll yarns, dialect phrases and dogmatic points of view? What’s the attraction of being hailed a quaint left-over from an idyllic pastoral scene that might not have existed after all?

There can be scope for critics and cynics to admit it may be nice to see people building their own village halls, reviving that old-fashioned community spirit and trying to hold on to pubs, buses, hedgerows and local colour. The art of condescension is not yet dead. But when it comes to that peculiar dialect …

My customary response centres on Norfolk’s exceptional powers of absorption, the old place still permits a parochial renegade not only to exist with impunity but also to flourish without apology in a climate where “dew diffrunt” sunshine bursts mercifully through dull clouds of uniformity.

I take fresh courage when needed from champions of the vernacular with a disarming habit of bringing it into........

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