The Bell, Aldworth. One of the greats.

If, like me, you gain comfort from a taste of the past perhaps, as a refuge from what the future has a habit of producing, there's no better hiding place than The Bell at Aldworth. 500ft up on the edge of the Berkshire downs, it was built when we weren't in the habit of growing as large as we do today so you stoop a little as you enter the front door - something folk have been doing since 13 hundred and odd. Now you're in a magical, completely unspoiled taproom, quietly populated with contented locals and appreciative visitors. It's a genuine free house so nowhere are any of those tell-tale corporate touches that smack of a pub pretending to be free but which is under the influence of a brewer, pub group or central control. In fact, as well as not accepting credit cards and having a strict no mobile phone policy, they don't sell draught lager - all of it totally beyond the ken of the average pub group director. They do serve farm cider and local ales such as genteel, copper coloured Arkells and those from the super West Berkshire Brewery, dispensed by handpump in their tiny serving area. The pub's soundtrack, understandably, is that of happy conversation. Food? Soup, Ploughman's, or crusty sandwiches such as Cheddar, Tongue or Crab. Oh, and what a cheese and onion sandwich. A warm roll arrives in a basket with a wedge of mature cheddar, a pot of raw sliced onion and little jars of chutney and mustard. And at a very old fashioned price. The Bell is a truly special pub that everyone should see. Just don't all go at once.