How did we become a society that tip toes in fear around sensibilities? - Sarah Todd

Then, the editor turned and said “There is something else Miss Todd…

“We might be tightening our belts, but we haven’t gone anorexic yet. Dick (the news editor) will explain, but your expenses are putting us all to shame. Get some more put in.”

It's a favourite story and brings back happy memories of what now seems like such a halcyon time.

From the age of 18 newspapers have been this now middle-aged writer’s world. Certainly, in those early days, an eye-opener for the farmer’s daughter who lived down a lane on the North York Moors and whose social life revolved around young farmers’ club meetings.

In those early newsroom days, there was always the odd occasion a hand brushed against this young passenger’s knee as gears were changed or some scribe who sat too close behind the press bench in the magistrates’ court.

Rather than being left traumatised in later life, such memories are recalled with fondness. Happy days, often rounded off with a trip to the pub; dropping a few reprobates off in an old Fiat Panda on the way home to the farm.

A different time. As somebody now in their early 50s, the world can often seem a completely alien place from the one grown up in. So heaven knows how negotiating some of today’s taboos must seem to those of an older generation.

The Husband has, when He’s on good form, a real sense of fun. For decades he spent Christmas parties making girls hysterical with laughter with the sprout eating competitions he instigated. Now, would such behaviour be a criminal offence?

It's a subject that has been on this correspondent’s mind for a long time. The last time a newspaper office was visited and the realisation that it could have been an insurance call centre - no banter and not even a kettle (health and safety reasons) - made me so sad.

Over the last few months, as people have been arrested over social media posts at a time when a police officer on the streets is as rare as hen’s teeth, the whole subject of how we should conduct ourselves is nothing short of a minefield.

It would be wrong to get involved in the furore surrounding Gregg Wallace stepping away from his role on MasterChef. He has obviously offended a lot of people and would doubtless have been better afterwards following the old adage about saying nothing when you have nothing nice to say.

But, pausing for a second on some of the revelations, is it possible to imagine one of the reporters from decades ago walking into work wearing nothing but a strategically placed sock? The answer is yes. The same could easily have happened at the young farmers’ meetings, where socials with other clubs often involved games such as making the longest line of clothes, or balloons passed from person to person with no hands allowed. No disrespect to anybody who has never got over it, but this then teenager has suffered no lasting psychological damage.

In other news, a horse rider has been in hot water. If reports are to be believed she shouted some choice words at somebody from the travelling community. Cambridgeshire Constabulary has since apologised after investigating the woman for the alleged “racially aggravated comment” rather than the original allegation that one of the men was driving at such speed down a single-track country road his vehicle hit a horse.

If my horse had been hit there would certainly have been, in the heat of the moment, some sweary language and Harvey Smith signalling thrown in for good measure. Would that warrant the key being thrown away? A frightening world or, as The Husband says making a MasterChef-inspired joke, “just the tip of the iceberg.”

Finally, over at radio drama The Archers, when farmer David mentioned the recent inheritance tax protest the only reply was how the money that would be raised was needed for the NHS. But then it is the BBC.