Don’t tell me I can’t leave my home to my children

Congratulations and commiserations are due to God’s own country, Yorkshire, for revealing its best and worst sides pretty much simultaneously.

On the one hand, we learn that a country pub has been crowned top eatery in the world. Yes, the world. Not just this side of Thirsk. Everywhere.

The Black Swan in Olstead, which is run by the Banks family, already boasts a Michelin star and has now received such glowing reviews that online travel guide Tripadvisor declared it to be the finest restaurant on the planet.

The acclaim was due to dishes such as squid dressed in horseradish, and Texel lamb with turnip, which beat Heston Blumenthal and Raymond Blanc. So a great accolade for North Yorkshire hospitality.

Less heart-warming, then, is the police report from North Yorkshire about nuisance and frivolous calls made to its 999 service.

I say frivolous, but perhaps astonishing is more apposite to describe the citizen from a well-to-do village who telephoned for a squad car to investigate a highly suspicious vehicle parked up in the area.

It turned out to be a supermarket delivery van that was causing consternation because, as the aerated caller pointed out, “nobody around here shops at Tesco”.

From internationally acclaimed cuisine down the local pub to the sort of net-twitching nosy neighbours who would put Hyacinth Bucket to shame… you couldn’t make it up.

Earlier this week, there was talk of greater devolution for the region, and even a campaign to gain full independence for Yorkshire.

What a tragedy that would be for all of us. It’s such a county of contrasts, of James Herriot and Mel B, Alan Bennett and Joanne Froggatt, the Brontës and Jeremy Clarkson.

There’s the tea, the puddings and parkin, the bluntness and the cricket. We’d all be the poorer if Yorkshire did a Catalonia and broke free, especially if they keep the Wensleydale and leave us Clarkson.