Reeling from what might best be described as a salutary culinary experience the previous evening, we poled up at the New Inn for lunch after a tip-off from a friendly sympathiser. Despite the fact that it was the 1st of April and one of the red-tops carried a picture of Her Majesty piloting the corgis towards the door of the Knightsbridge branch of a well-known bookmakers, we ignored the possibility of a set up, and went for it.

If ever faith was justified this was the occasion. After some initial fun and games parking the car (tip: for trouble-free access both before and after, take a cab) we entered this simple, no-nonsense, simply decorated, honest pub, awash with decent beer (always four distinguished guests in residence) and excellent wines, and populated by cheerful persons of all ages and - I should hazard a guess - callings.

The place is lined with blackboards, all clearly written in white chalk only, announcing a wide array of dishes with a heavy influence towards seafood. Notwithstanding I decided to give the local venison a canter and served smoked with green fig chutney it more than lived up to expectations. The shell on prawns with a garlic dip were plump, and the taste of the sea clung to them.

My feelings about crab are well chronicled within the family but it took me until this occasion to meet the daddy of them all. He frowned at me from the plate, astride an interesting salad and surrounded by the necessary implements to bring about his dismememberment. Ample soft brown, nutty bread came in a basket, outside the sun shone, everything was as it should be, and the stage was set for twenty minutes of unalloyed joy.

Opposite me a seabass, clearly closely associated with the sea until very recently, was being eyed with delight, and so we fell to. Both of us enjoyed that satisfaction that comes with knowing there really is no better way to offer what graces the plate before you. A pint of Pedigree provided the ideal robust foil for my late crustacean friend and the Chablis which accompanied the seabass on its last voyage was recorded as perfect.

In one corner a large family party enjoyed their tucker, their dog beneath the table giving the lie to those timid souls who ban our canine friends from their premises on spurious grounds of health and safety. Next time - and may it be soon - our Jack Russell will not sit outside in the car. The whole place smacked of genuine enjoyment created by total competence.