When I asked them if they had a website address they said "no, we're too old fashioned for that", and the last surviving remains of my Luddite tendencies quickened a notch or two. Actually it's rather like walking into a massive bush when you make for the door and realise that the whole of this quite small cottage is choked not by holly, but wisteria.

Inside it's a completely different story, everything immaculate and ship-shape, with Ray Taylor and his team in complete charge of a retro on second-half-of-the-20th-century pub food. So be prepared for smoked salmon sandwiches, baked potatoes filled with a narrow variety of stuffings, and by way of a big nod to the future as it then was, chilli con carne, but say it in carefully hushed tones lest the deeply seasoned locals become agitated. Trouble was I found myself thinking that all of these look pretty tasty to me, even if I did draw the line at the prawn sandwiches with Marie Rose sauce, which suggests that Methuselah and I are not unacquainted.

One of the high spots of the Holly Bush is the beer, best bitter from Fullers of Chiswick, and what better to drown a rampant chilli con carne than a few pints of London Pride, or in extreme cases the ESB. This is a pub for connoisseurs, and those of a certain age and inclinations will feel entirely comfortable in this haven - or should that read 'heaven'?

And please - no overworked jokes about why the potter crouched - they've heard them all.