It’s true, the daffodils were scarce at the 42nd Thriplow Daffodil Weekend following our cold winter, but there were plenty of other attractions to remind me of England at its best.

It helped that this was a green and unspoilt English village, a mix of traditional old cottages and immaculate modern homes, complete with a local blacksmiths. There was no graffiti or untidy, littered bus shelters in sight.

The weather was perfect, there was an abundance of homemade cakes and teas, the stallholders were genial and proudly displayed their potted plants and crafts, musicians and a magician performed in a tent, the vintage cars looked polished and pristine, and the Devil’s Dyke Morris Men hadn’t changed a bit since the days when I used to follow them around Cambridgeshire with my youngest son; in fact, you could say I was a bit of a Morris dancing groupie!

I always wished I had had a daughter to dress up, so instead poor James had to satisfy this longing in me. Because of his love of music and drama, he dutifully obliged when I dressed him a white shirt and red braces and tied bells to his legs. A red scarf around his neck completed his mini Morris dancing outfit and he became a kind of mascot as he joined these good natured men who danced with sticks and handkerchiefs to the accordion and fiddle.

There was a spell when we followed the Devil’s Dyke Morris Men as they toured the county – usually from pub to pub – providing a tremendous real feel-good factor into our lives;  they are now on the lookout out for new members to join them if this takes your fancy to ensure that English country dancing such as this does not die out.

The Morris dancers recognised my face and remembered James when I reminded them about how we used to tag along when they performed at our favourite Reach Fair and  local pubs. Alas, James is 17 now and learning to drive, as well as being a football captain and junior golf vice-captain, and would kill me if I suggested he wear bells and braces! So where will they find their new blood?

I can swear by the longevity and youthfulness that Morris dancing brings as these firm bodied male dancers have retained their lithe form and youthful looks from a decade ago; perhaps it is the undiscovered elixir of youth!

As I tootled along, I stumbled across the elegant Betty Boothroyd who I have never met before, the first woman Speaker of the House of Commons, and I couldn’t resist introducing myself.

We spoke a little about woman and politics and she shared her views with me, that women with careers and children are not rewarded, and that she personally chose not to have marriage and family as she pursued a career in politics.

She agreed with me that bringing up the next generation of young people to be happy and healthy and well adjusted citizens (my priority) was under-rated.

My pa-in-law was clearly smitten with her and as we drove off, he said, “I wish I had asked her out for dinner.” I’m sure she’s not short of admirers, I thought to myself, and hope that one day we might see each other again to continue our discussion.

I know my husband gave up on the salsa, but I wonder if he might be tempted to take up Morris dancing!