A seminal text about Britain in the late 20th century was the hymn of love composed by Bill Bryson, travel writer extraordinary and, as it happens, my successor as president of the Campaign to Protect Rural England.
In his 1995 Notes From A Small Island he rapturously celebrated crumpets, beans on toast, village fêtes, country lanes, people who say “mustn’t grumble” and the chocolate digestive biscuit. We wallowed in all this, especially coming from such a nice guy who also hails from America. Bill delivered physiotherapy for our self-regard; ticked all the things we give ourselves gold stars for.
Today, three decades on, I suspect most of those assembled for last weekend’s Conservative Democratic Organisation conference in Bournemouth, and the later National Conservatism gathering in
