It's been a jolly June to date, hasn't it? 

It's certainly been the month when the collective efforts of many of Hadleigh's very best folks have come to fruition.

As a result, the Taylors have been witnesses to quite the cornucopia of community fun and frolics.

There was the Hidden Gardens of Hadleigh event which single-handedly produced the greatest concentration of Panama hats outside of the Henley Regatta. The clement weather slightly alarmingly also ensured a similar instance of bare, male legs – many of which had clearly not seen action or sunlight since before the COVID19 pandemic. 

Now, in my opinion some gardens should remain hidden. I include the pre-rewilded acres at Chez Taylor in this category. I've post-rationalised our despoliation as the successful recreation of a strip of Tudor common land just prior to the start of the enclosure movement.

So it's an historical mess. Perhaps I should bequeath it to the new Food Museum, whose rebranding from the Museum of East Anglian life seems to have upset one or two personages, with too much time on their hands? Amongst this number is one Matthew Attwood, who has - if it is the very same gentleperson, opined negatively about my right to write, if you see what I mean.

As a shade who REALLY has eternity on his hands, there are far more important ditches to expire in, Mr A, or perhaps that should be pyres to burn upon?

But back to the Taylor paradise. To be fair, as spirits it's quite a challenge doing much lifting, leave alone that of the heavy variety. It's just our very rotten luck that a comparison shop with one of our neighbours – you know the type – hoovers their artificial grass – makes ours especially ragged.

But really well done to the Hidden Gardens organisers. The town was throbbing with people throughout the Saturday, ensuring not just a renewed cross-fertilisation of ideas and tips, but I hope some happy independent traders along the High Street as well.

Profits from the venture will go to the Friends of St Mary to help with the refurbishment of my old preaching ground. The Deanery grounds themselves hosted a rather fine get-together a week earlier in celebration of the Queen's Platinum Jubilee.

To be honest, I'm not much of a monarchist, having been flambed through the diktats of Bloody Mary, but the current incumbent has many of the virtues lacking elsewhere in modern public life, so she's probably deserving of knees-up in her name.

And although publicity for the gig was rather lacking, there was a fair crowd and plenty of music – much of it projecting mightily to the Conch and beyond.

I was also impressed by the Brett Valley Collective's play: Village Hall Matters, hosted at Hadleigh Old School, Footsie Grutchfield's pad. This comedy oozes humanity and pathos, focussing on a group of rather unhappy types who come together for meaning and solace during committee meetings. I'm sure that any resemblance to Hadleigh Town Councils of the present or past is entirely coincidental.

Theatrical hats off to writer and impresario Rachel Bennett and her cast and crew for a very moving and humorous experience and for donating their profits to the Campaign Against Living Miserably. 

But in any Eden, there always lurks something sinuous, just waiting to uncoil and cause chaos.

I understand that Councillor Queenie Dawson, having written some pretty peevish and personal defamatory comments about poor Father Derek, editor of Hadleigh Nub News, is currently partaking from the Tree of Knowledge, also known as a Babergh code of conduct enquiry.

I'll not second guess the outcome of these investigations and any other action that might be commenced, but once this matter has all died down, I must say that I await with bated non-breath for Queenie's future bestseller: How To Upset People & Infuriate Them. 

Toodle pip!

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