The Village Pub has re-opened!!!

Oh. You knew that anyway, Bear with me – I’m getting a bit behind.

It had been closed for two years for refurbishments, after the previous landlord, the Rudest Man in the World, had retired.

You might think that it was exciting to have the genuinely Rudest Man in the World as village landlord. However, there comes a point when rudeness passes from novelty into annoyingness, and he’d jumped that particular shark years ago. Nobody went in there.

I once met a visitor to the village, who’d tried to book a room for the night.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He told me to fuck myself, and put the phone down on me,” he replied, sadly.

Last Thursday was opening night. We traipsed on down there – the Short Tonies, the Big A’s, the Cheerful Builder and us. In there was the Miller and his wife, the Parish Council people, Roxy and Spike and everybody. It was just like I imagine The Ivy.

It is exceedingly posh now. You can tell it’s posh because food is served on a bed of other food, and there isn’t a machine in the gents selling rubber johnnies.

In fact, it’s more a hotel than an inn now, although room rates are such that I will have to be incredibly pissed and it be raining incredibly hard for me to book myself in rather than walk the 300 yards home.

They had earlier put on a free meal in the restaurant for local dignitaries, TO WHICH I WAS NOT INVITED. I have not put whoever organised that on my list of death yet, as they are new, and I am a compassionate deity.

But it raises a big question mark over their business sense and they will be sorry if my readers decide to eat elsewhere.

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UPDATE! Have eaten there now and it's superb. Readers may consider this a recommendation and flock there in droves. Thank you.