Lots of spaces, lots of wood (panelling, bar stools hewn from tree trunks), quite a bit of iron (bar stools using old tractor seats by the look of it and two structural but stylish posts holding up the first floor), a couple of fireplaces and a pub dog, Oscar. Get the picture?
The ethos of the place is, apparently, that they will provide food as long as there are customers requiring it and the chef is still at his post. A flexibility unfamiliar in other English taverns.
Members of staff were welcoming, cordial, affable etc. The fare was good and well-presented. Chips (with both the steak and omelette) were plentiful (good for me as I'm a chipaholic) but from frozen I would guess.
So why only 'very good' and not 'excellent'? Twas the local radio station broadcasting the usual hurried, inane babble and loathsome, screaming 'pop'. A country pub brings to mind the buzz of conversation with local accents, pints being poured, the 'ching' (we can't say the other word any more) of glasses and perhaps, on warm days, the sounds from without. But what do we get? Fatuous blather from local radio.
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