THE world of pubs seems to divide neatly into two distinct categories: The 'Cheers' type, 'where everyone knows your name;' and the anonymous type, which is no less welcoming, but where everyone's a stranger.
But I like to think there's also a third type - a place where everyone knows everyone else's name, apart from yours.
And with that in mind, I suggested the Bird in Hand in Guilden Sutton, to husband, P, for a Saturday night supper.
Guilden Sutton is a commuter village, two miles outside Chester. I know it well, having spent the last nine years commuting to it, not from it, in order to take the children to school.
'Great idea,' said P, then immediately backtracked. 'But then again, it's always so busy - or so I've been told. I don't think they'll be able to squeeze us in at such short notice.'
Now that's strange, P doesn't normally make a fuss regarding my choice of venue, he's usually happy to accompany me wherever we go.
I frowned. 'Well, I've booked it.'
'Oh,' he said, avoiding my gaze.
I nipped upstairs to change, pondering his reluctance.
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