Flurries of snow in spring are not unknown. But they can be a bit of a bummer, can't they? 

In recent weeks, I've been receiving reports of political snowflakes falling, or perhaps flouncing, all over dear old Hadders.

The snowflakes in question are, almost inevitably these days, to be found among the area's weakening frontal system of Conservative councillors.

The cold-as-Arctic electoral fortunes of Rishi's local representatives don't seem to have improved their already sub-zero levels of probity and appropriate behaviour.

Firstly, the sage (and onion stuffing) from Great Cornard, councillor Peter 'Bottler' Beer basically 'fessed up a while back that local Tories were throwing up their hands in surrender and conceding May's elections to Generalissimo's Rainbow Coalition. In celebration, I understand that Generalissimo has ordered in an extra consignment of Gonzalez Byass del duque amontillado VORS.

In short, Bottler bottled it. 

Not since the disasterous Norway campaign (lots of snow there, certainly) in the Second World War has a Tory seemed so effete and limp.

Then there was the curious case of the missing spinal column. Hadleigh councillor and prospective candidate Mick 'Macadam' Fraser, who is never shy of flashing his medals and military credentials rather as some Pacific islanders displaying gourds over their manhood, went all passive-aggressive when he was called out by a member of the public at a meeting of Mayor Gordon 'Jilted John' Macleod's Hadleigh Town Council. 

Not for him an acceptance that this was all part of the cut and thrust of politics. Instead, Macadam cried salty tears and called in PC Passmore's people to investigate. 

Macadam needs to tread carefully in his snowshoes. Tory boys wasting police time rarely curry public sympathy. Just look at the fate of ex-premier Johnson.

Snowflake Fraser (Picture: Babergh)

Talking of curries, regular readers will know I'm a little queasy when presented with the hot stuff. In my earthly days, a little pinch of salt and some mint equated to the most exotic efforts available to the sixteenth century's equivalent of Nadiya. 

But I'm hearing rumours about a certain someone who rather likes her vindaloos a lot. Perhaps too much.

I understand that Councillor 'Queenie' Dawson has been seen hanging around one of the town's three Indian restaurants quite a bit recently. What I don't understand, though, is why she rarely seems to use the front entrance of her favourite purveyors of patias?

I'm sure she's there by invitation. In my day trespassing was a serious matter involving mantraps and other eye-wateringly anatomical punishments. 

Thank Heavens, we live in more enlightened times (Jacob Rees-Mogg, notwithstanding)

I wager, not that I gamble, that it's all a misunderstanding as anyone who appreciates Queenie's utterly ethical behaviour in the discharge of her democratic role to date will attest. 

My contact mentioned something about a wall and that has certainly convinced me that Queenie was merely re-enacting the play-within-a-play scene from Midsummer Night's Dream by that novelle vague playwright from the West Midlands.

She is certainly my favourite Rude Mechanical. And always will be.

The best thing would be for Queenie to clear the matter up herself. Yet, she continues to be in hibernation mode. I'm not even sure she's said soz for previously defaming Father Derek by the required deadline. 

But she is not alone in this regard.

The remains of Conservative group leader councillor Toad/Onan Barrett's rump group of friends reportedly froze themselves out and refused to join in the usual end-of-term Babergh photo. 

I understand that council staff are now enjoying a prolonged game of Where are the Wallies.

Keep the home fires burning. It'll be all over by mid-May. 

Why Hadleigh is so special