"Cry Tom and St. Edmund..."

It would not have been politic down at the Dragon Inn, tonight of all nights, to make mention of my long held reservations concerning the official Patron Saint of England - St. George of course - whose feast day naturally has to be there celebrated with particular gusto, cheer and beer.

Patrick and the eponymous George [see many previous] are justly renowned for their especial efforts for this day. Guest ales from many sources - some one suspects quite unbeknownst by Her Majesty's revenue services - are ordered months in advance. George will even prepare a suggested route for drinking: from the lightest and most summery beers through misty autumn ales into wintry porters. (Few make it past December's 'Mother Miracle's Sock Warmer' - a pit-dark brew from some back-yard shed in Northumberland.)

Partner Patrick meanwhile labours to produce modern versions of obscure historical English dishes to match the beer. Rabbit with prune stuffing is a staple each year, whilst many wonderful things are achieved with a brace of woodcock and wild honey. ('Badger Broth' was on the menu one year, which was alarming and disconcerting both for its moral and literal taste until assured by Pat that he actually only used three-week hung beef as a reasonable and lawful substitute.)

The cheer of the place is long and loud, with mercifully little sign of xenophobia - leastways never in my presence - to tarnish the mood. We Woldeans seem to have successfully accepted that to be 'English' is to be a bit of a rag-bag of races in any case, so are not terribly prone to adopt a 'fortress island' mentality, having seen so many of our bloodline forebears sail across the North Sea to land and live on our shores.

"Cry Harry and St. George" is naturally something of a team song for the night, not to mention a way of thanking George - and Patrick - for their labours. This though is where I tend to come a little unstuck, for you see that I have never quite taken the the notion that St. George is best placed - as a Turk - to be the Patron of England, nor that skills in the slaying of dragons is the prime quality needed for the post. (Nor indeed have I ever been Prince Hal's greatest of fans - even when he became a mighty warrior King - ever since that rather nasty, if yes necessary, repudiation of his great fat jolly and so very English mentor Falstaff.

Having returned from the Inn - leastways I believe I have though one can never quite tell where one is after a second pint of 'Sock Warmer' - let me propose an alternative toast of the day: "Cry Tom and St. Edmund!" Now you'll not struggle with the latter, for clearly I am suggesting - as do many who are wise in these matters - that the Martyr King St. Edmund is a far more fitting - not to mention English - person to be Patron of the land.

But the 'Tom' element? Who this, I hear you ask. As you reasonably should. Well, this Tom I have in mind for a worthy rousing cheer is a certain Tom Hart Dyke, whose English enthusiasm, eccentricity, charm and personal and family history equip him most suitably to be all that a good Englishman should be. From decaying family seat, to captive of Colombian gangsters, to visionary creator of a 'World Garden', Tom's story - together with that of his family, friends, supporters and helpers - is about as quintessentially English in all its heroic, madcap yet magnificent endeavour as any I could conjure.

For more gen do visit first their website and then themselves at: Tom's World.

For a wonderful taster there is also a BBC 2 programme to be watched on a Monday evening. I saw it tonight at the Dragon. Well, I believe I did though, as I say, one can never be sure of anything when the Sock Warmer in in town!