Covid 19 has wreaked havoc on our traditional watering holes, which are increasingly becoming wining holes. A trip to my ‘local’ recently had me shedding a tear, reflecting on all the joyous moments I have spent in pubs.

Maulds Meaburn was too small for a pub. The bus stop was the only social hangout, but Crosby Ravensworth, our neighbouring village was blessed with two, The Butcher’s Arms and The Sun Hotel.

The pubs were Crosby’s equivalent of Verona’s two great families the Capulets and Montagues. You chose your sides and stuck by them. And as far as I know, there were no star-crossed lovers.

My family aligned with the Butcher’s Arms, and Mrs Stubbs, the indominable landlady. Though only 10 when I first came across the Butcher’s Arms it wasn’t my first pub. I’d already been introduced to the Cutty Sark in Greenwich – on the very muddy banks of the river Thames, and our dog Crewe’s favourite, the Princess of Wales on Blackheath (he once ran away from home only to be found at the pub).

Pubs are a defining part of British life, a microcosm of society, and the Butcher’s Arms was no exception. Every time we went, you’d find old Rayner Crosby sitting on a comfy chair by the fire, his old Staffordshire Bull Terrier on the other comfy chair and Sylvia B perched on a bar stool drinking Holsten Diat Pils. Husband Trevor tended to stand. Rayner’s tipple was a half pint of Tartan and a Glenmorangie chaser. He complained that while a pint cost 22p a half was 12p.

Occasionally you’d come across Andrew and partner ‘Twiggy’, sadly not the 60s modelling sensation. Twiggy was a man who looked like a cross between Gollum and said 60s model. Twiggy lived with Andrew, a ruddy-faced, tweed clad farmer. Yes, two chaps in an openly gay relationship in Cumbria in the 1970s. We were woke before it were a word. I can’t remember what they drank, but I do remember Twiggy was a lot of fun.

I’m not sure who else was a regular, but we’d often go there with our great friends the Belwards, who ran the local school, and sometimes the Willinks – he was a Sir and a master in classics at Eton, she a great artist, whom I was in love with (aged 14, she would have been 50). I think this must have been the Sunday after church ritual. The pub really only had room for about 20 people and for some reason, Mrs Stubbs never opened the other room she had which could have doubled her customers. At other times, when we had people to stay, we’d be responsible for most of the pubs’ occupants.

I think I had my first beer at that pub. I can recall my mother saying I could only have a half as I was underage. Always loved my mum’s logic.

I certainly had lots of legal and illegal beers in Cambridge pubs. There were so many and so many good ones. The Eagle, where Watson and Crick worked out the double helix structure of DNA. Not sure if Rosalind Franklin, the third and oft forgotten brain behind that discovery, drank there too. The Locomotive, where I first kissed Kirsten, my wife. The Fort St George, where I got incredibly drunk before meeting her parents. The Free Press and its ‘Clinical Meetings’, The Spring, The Mill, the list goes on. Apart from colleges most buildings in that town were pubs and most Cambridge pubs served Greene King IPA which was an excellent drink. But like the Butcher’s Arms I can’t remember a lot of wine being on offer. They did have Babycham on the shelf behind the bar. Now they boast a small but adventurous wine list with wine from several continents.

A recent survey into the pub habits of Australians shows that we now regard pubs as a place for food more than drink. So, it’s not surprising that your local is now almost a wine bar.

If I had a pub, I’d make the house red a Sensi Organic Chianti which can be yours for $8.88 from Vintage cellars. It’s a good all-purpose red. Some firm tannins and some lively fruit but not too much of anything. Definitely better than the Los Santos Lima reds I got there, one for $9.99, the other $14.99 both of which had a typical earthy Portuguese character but left me feeling worse for wear. I’d also avoid the West Rivers Chardonnay. Margaret River for under $10 seemed too good to be true. It was.

I had lunch at my nearest pub last weekend, The Newport Arms Hotel. It’s a far cry from the Butcher’s Arms and a drink cost a hell of a lot more than 22p a pint.