The cliff is crumbling; society is crumbling; England is crumbling; but can old-fashioned values triumph against a tide of modernity during one sunny Suffolk summer?
This is the England of sunlit uplands and daisies on lawns, of Ladybird Books and P.G. Wodehouse, of plimsolls and wooden tennis rackets, where village cricket still happens and blue wheelie-bins overflow bounteously on a hot summer's day...
There is a recycling crisis in the outbuildings, and the local dearth of a crucial ingredient for making elderflower cordial is a bit of a trial. An unidentified livestock-worrying creature may be on the prowl in this gentle landscape, and some prize-winning free-range pigs need to be rounded up and rescued off the beach. An artistic crop circle is slain by the roar of big yellow combines, making clouds of harvest dust in the great drought. The church is empty, hunting has been banned and inventive fund-raising ideas are running dry. To cap it all, people no longer seem able to write proper thank-you letters.
The country is clearly going to the dogs; but a stiff upper lip and the solid old-fashioned values of rural England will surely prevail over the transient irritations of modern life...
Cold Comfort Farm hides Straw Dogs in the woodshed.
[Complete manuscript available]