An Outbreak of Paganism in Carshalton

So there I was, walking along the high street, minding my own business, when I became aware of the sound of music - well, the banging of drums, the tootling of pipes and the squeezing of squeeze boxes - drawing near. I waited on a corner and into view hoved a walking haystack, followed by a procession dressed in various faux medieval and faux celtic motleys, with leaves in their hair. One character, stripped to the waist and painted, was prancing about making mischief, while the rest marched on with an apparent sense of purpose. Shaggy grey beards were, of course, de rigueur (at least for the men). Several of the processants were playing instruments, banging on things, and giving the occasional excited cry. Such shows of enthusiasm, as Hardy observes somewhere, are sure signs of a faked or resurrected tradition - observers of a genuine living tradition invariably evince total boredom. Whatever this 'tradition' was, it was a new one on me.
On closer inspection, the walking haystack appeared to be a walking oversized stook of corn, so presumably this was some kind of harvest home, celebrating the safe gathering in of the abundant corn from Carshalton's fields (hem hem). This was disappointing, as I had of course beeen hoping it was a local variant of the wicker man ceremony, and a huge pyre was waiting in Carshalton Park.
Anyway, as bemused onlookers scratched their heads, the procession made its way to the other side of the street, with the prancer prancing merrily about in the stalled traffic (in a fine display of forbrearance, nobody ran him over). Outside the motorbike shop, the Corn Man became stuck - to amusing effect - between a lamp post and a parked motorbike, and had to be maneouvred for several minutes to get him going again. The procession then passed on, who knows whither - I wasn't going to follow, as it was clear no human sacrifice was on offer.
I suppose this was an outbreak of respectable suburban 'paganism' - it's alarmingly popular, I gather, in the affluent suburbs, where the disaffected bourgeoisie like to kid themselves they are in touch with elemental forces. I remember the 'new' rector, back in the 90s when he arrived here, saying that he'd concluded he was among tree worshippers. It seems he had a point...