It may have been dear old Ken Dodd, wisecracking king of Knotty Ash, who set the tone for such a brazen brand of mischief and mayhem when he declared: “What a lovely day for sticking a cucumber through the vicar’s letter-box and shouting: "Help! Help! .. the Martians have landed!"

I refer, of course, to what appear to be unprecedented levels of falling-out and nasty feuding way beyond tickling-stick standards afflicting our local communities large and small as we wait for springtime balm to work its soothing magic and restore amiable lore and order.

It’s been a winter of scandalous discontent among those who like stirring things up simply for the sake of it, turning minor squabbles into lurid confrontations, especially in “them-and-us” corners of colonised Norfolk where second homers have nothing to do with essential extra reading for advanced Greek students.

In some cases, good old-fashioned homegrown awkwardness fanned by the ever-advancing delights of social media, has proved just as effective as the bush telegraph of my village childhood in dispensing gossip and information.

There were certain residents eager to serve as  rustic town criers when it came to spreading the word about a particular subject or person.  “Now, this didn’t come from me, okay? But I gather ole Mrs H will soon be moving out of Crabtree Cottage… “ 

I worked in Great Yarmouth and lived in Gorleston during the mid-1960s and so became well-versed in the joys and perils of intense coastal local rivalry. Even so, it came as a major surprise to hear recent allegations of “gardeners with a  grudge” employing rather basic irrigation tactics  in spraying each other’s allotments either side of the river.

Still, as a last resort, it could lead to bumper crops of sweet peas to brighten up both places in readiness for a fresh holiday harvest. It’s not all muck-raking and mystery when plots thicken despite those who prefer to turn over old grievances and spiteful rumours rather than a new leaf.

It’s not long since we were being urged to step outside and join neighbours in  a hearty spontaneous  clap for  carers and other “community heroes”  making vital contributions in the battle  against a rampant Covid pandemic.

How soon has that  new version of what many dubbed “a true wartime spirit” evaporated and been replaced by an epidemic of unsavoury skirmishes stretching from Parliament to the parish pump.

Goodness knows there are enough  serious subjects to address in these testing times without worrying and wittering on about village pubs trying to woo posh customers, the colour or size of a neighbour’s wall, newcomers who still refuse to take  the “p” out of Happisburgh,  what sort of grub should be served up on Morston quay  and how many dogs it takes to  make a leafy suburb barking mad.

Environmental concerns  should be on or near the top of every likely candidate’s agenda for our forthcoming general election  as flood alerts, coastal erosion  incidents. potholes and other traffic hazards  and housebuilding schemes  on prime agricultural land increase at alarming rates.

Voters in this region must be ready to demand far more than well-worn platitudes and doubtful promises from doorstep visitors. Would-be MPs will surely notice why so many of us are upset at the way residential streets are being treated as parking lots, building sites and rat-run routes for locals and visitors in a hurry to get somewhere else.

Slowing down can be far more productive  than  stirring it up in any reasonable campaign to render our everyday lives more worthwhile and our immediate surroundings less dangerous, noisy and scruffy.

Pavements should be left clear for pedestrians and  mobility scooters rather than  being hijacked by Chelsea Tractors and other massive status symbols craving attention. Swanky parking  is now the scourge of  many north Norfolk streets at all times of year.

I have tried to raise this topic with local councillors, traders, residents and s few of the drivers  who push their luck on the road where I live. ” Nothing illegal going on, although it may border on the anti-social,”  appears to be most illuminating response I’m likely to get.

Perhaps my next target should be the army of mums and minders who drive children to school, many of them glued to mobile phones – that’s mums and minders as well as youngsters - and then park outside before lessons begin, still chuntering into the  ether rather than to each other. 

I’ve been reliably informed how this same formula swings into operation at end of the school day at picking-up time. There’s a lesson there somewhere for a world in which the simple art of communication is in danger of being totally blurred by social media forces.

Or perhaps that’s just an old fogey out of touch with inevitable progress of stirring things up for the sake of it.