It was just before Christmas and there was no room at the Inn - The Plough Inn that is.
So we called at the White Lion in Alvanley instead and they gave us a stable - sorry, a table - as well as a menu and a warm welcome.
If you like your hostelries cosy, traditional, with candles on the tables and beamed ceilings dripping with hops then this is the place for you. It was also the place for my husband and I on a chilly Saturday night in December - although not for the first time, it has to be said.
We have called in after walks in Delamere Forest; we've met here on Friday nights, as a convenient point after work; we have even fallen off our bikes here after a ridiculously strenuous cycle ride one summer's evening. (If you drive up the hill from the A56 you'll see what I mean. Birthday treat or no birthday treat, what was he thinking of, making me cycle up a one in five gradient just so we could celebrate my reaching the age of 39? And that was just for starters. He made me cycle further for the main course...)
This is one of our all time favourite pubs: cosy and quintessentially English, from its Old Speckled Hen bitter on tap to its proper, rib sticking puddings. And yet, it's only the second time we've eaten here.
But tonight, for some reason, it wasn't going to plan.
'What do you mean, you don't feel comfortable?' said P, with one eye scanning the menu.
I was tugging at the hem of a new dress and shifting in my seat. 'I'm not sure I like the table,' I said, detecting the tell-tale wisps of a too close smoker and trying to take my mind off the fact I'd chosen the wrong outfit.
'No problem', said the young waitress who promptly helped move our glasses and bottle of Chablis (£15.95) to a non smoking table.
Article
