You say: "Those details, while important, cannot be the whole story. You are cleverly hiding your main point. Please tell us what it is."

Oh, all right. My point is to speak to you of this lovely little town, which I used to visit frequently, but had neglected of late for the more glamorous delights of North Berwick. You would wonder how one county could contain so many marvels, but East Lothian is a special place.

Haddington is an exceedingly pleasant small town with a convivial main street. I was intrigued by a sign in a shop window, which said something to the effect of: "Haddington Business Association says Tesco must stay – to keep the town centre alive." Changed days! It used to be the conventional wisdom that Tesco killed local businesses. In this instance, it seems the evil store is moving to the outskirts of town. Personally, I never shop at Tesco when I can avoid it, because of the anti-independence stance of its boss. But, in Haddington, as far as I know, it's the only big place in town, and I enjoy sitting in the car park in my trusty Focus, eating a hot lunch and reading the local papers.

After that, I toured the bakeries and newsagents, before hieing myself to the bucolic sector, down by the brown River Tyne. My first stop was St Mary's Pleasance, a 17th-century patch of paradise with an orchard, sunken garden and small meadow-like area, with paths through long grass in which white autumn crocuses bloomed. There's something Elysian about walking through long grass.

Here, birdies fluttered and tweeted, which is always a good sign. Even "hillock" is too high a word for what I subsequently learned was called The Mount, a conical horticultural arrangement, about 20ft high at a guess, up which wound a path between boxed hedges. At the top was a round stone seat, which I sat upon, but only briefly, for there's an old wives' tale that sitting on cold stone afflicts the bumular area with haemorrhoids. Perhaps, next time, I will take a cushion, for the Mount gives a fine elevated view of the garden, the nearby River Tyne, and St Mary's cathedral-sized kirk with its squat tower sitting squintly.

Across the river, trees were turning red and gold as autumn took its calming hold, and a watery sun dripped through grey skies. Back doon on earth, I sauntered beneath the canopied laburnum walk and on between two rows of hornbeams. The orchard is an open area with a scattering of apple, plum and mulberry trees, some with wonderfully gnarled trunks.

Beside Haddington House stands a big Irish yew. The house dates from 1648 and is painted white, with a stair-turret in the crook of its L-shaped design. The formal sunken garden is pleasing to the eye and here I sat for a while with my brain in the off position. You are asking me now to switch it back to on. Cheek. Shortly afterwards, I found herbs with helpful signs detailing medieval remedies "for humane griefe". The stinking gladens cures coughs, you know.

Leaving the Pleasance, I took a turn round the churchyard, then set off down a path by the banks of the Tyne. A man fed bread to squabbling gulls. A plastic bottle floated sedately downstream. There's a big housing development near the path now, and few passers-by said hello, many being lumpen grimmies taking their mutts out for the turd-dumping. Someone told me there'd always been a "rougher element" in Haddington, and a letter in the local paper referred to weekend neddery. But everywhere has this problem. Even North Berwick has a ned, though he knits his own baseball caps and has a Sunday passion for campanology.

Leaving the river, I took a turn through the new housing estate, which was lovely and quiet, with well-tended gardens. I doubt if the neds come from here. Back in town, I noticed many normal, middle-aged people. I even saw old folk walking freely. These latter have disappeared from our city streets. Most citizens outwith Edinburgh are of normal size, too, with none of the 7ft giants who have congregated in our capital, taking their positions as scouts prior to a full invasion from ooter space. Haddington will be of little interest to them. But it's of great interest to alleged earthlings like the present writer.