Hawkley Inn, The

I have invaded these columns before with my enthusiasm for what might be termed character pubs with minds of their own, but in an increasingly straitened world they are a rare sign of hope, that one day people will be free again in the sense that they were until the second half of the 20th century came along. End of rant.

Set amidst rolling Hampshire countryside that smacks of the never far distant sea and ships, The Hawkley is the epitome of independence blended with a liberal approach. No less than 11 real ales are on draught, mostly from the surrounding microbreweries. Well-behaved animals and children are welcome, until 8pm that is, when the children are banished but animals can remain. Phew, that's a relief. Then presumably the lights go down, the pace quickens and the odd watershed story gets told and rural Hampshire starts livin', man.

Food is most definitely an item, and my daughter Nicola would rejoice that home-made broccoli and Stilton soup makes a regular appearance here, along with faggots with onion gravy, cottage pie, Sussex beef stew and ham and leek pancakes. Already I can hear Gordo proclaiming the culinary messiah as he completes his return to his roots. As for rolls and ploughman's the less said the better, except that they are available at both lunchtime or in the evening.

Like so many really worthwhile pubs it's a pig to find, but persevere before health and safety come along and demand that a two lane carriageway be installed through those leafy Hampshire lanes. English Heritage, which has become agreeably more down to earth under present management, could have a department for the preservation of the independence of pubs like the Hawkley Inn.