My head was spinning as it reeled from information overload: “What you need is six inches to a tight button son,” said my new friend, then someone else called: “Don’t listen to him, it’s all in the flags,” while another voice claimed: “Shape and consistency is where it’s at…” This was followed by another voice loudly exclaiming: “What would you know? All you did this year was put muck in the trench, your missus should have her name on the ticket!” There was much raucous laughter at that statement, including the lad who was the butt of the comment: “Well, work’s been full on this year…” I turned to seek out the refreshments table but even the lady at the tea and biscuit counter had an opinion: “My man gets his leeks from a small place in town and his muck from a farm over yonder.” She pointed vaguely out of the town hall door and across the square as she filled my mug with coffee.