DESPITE being a child of the computer generation, my Boy was seldom shuttered alone in his room, with pallid, pimpled skin, bags beneath his eyes and sores on his fingers from excess chat-room exploits or PlayStation fatigue. In fact, he was almost the opposite. Gregarious. Out-going. Perpetually cheerful.

Mind you, it was only a couple of years ago that he was curious enough to ask what it was that I do for a living.

In fact, you may even recall the first time he joined me, as we reviewed an Indian restaurant in town. I am relieved to say that his palate is now somewhat more refined than it used to be.

While he is now not averse to joining me in the Potting Shed for the odd snifter or two, meeting his young lady friend is a privilege that has not been extended to me until just a few evenings ago.

A most attractive young thing, her name is Elspeth and she is involved in the creative arts.

From what I was able to gather as we drove across the River Trent into near-Nottinghamshire, she hails from good stock and is well versed in country sports.

The Boy is clearly smitten with her and it was his suggestion that we should do lunch, which we did at the Eyre Arms in Rampton. In fact, I wish to thank a regular reader, Mr Cliff Hardy, for his recommendation.

To be honest, I had always thought that Rampton was just a high security hospital. Instead, it is a delightful village, adjacent to the Trent, the only downside to the view from some villagers' windows being the sight of the power station cooling towers, which will not be there forever.

Having parked outside the public house, we walked inside, placed our drinks orders at the bar and went to peruse the blackboards on which the menu was displayed.

Elspeth chose the garlic bread as a starter to be followed by the fillet steak, while The Boy wanted to try the salmon goujons and the duck breast and I picked the pâté, with a main course of braised beef.

Our hostess explained that her husband was the chef and apologised for the time it might take to prepare our meals as everything was cooked to order.

When the starters arrived on their immaculate white plates, I also started to notice the very clean and blemish-free interior of the pub. Despite the criticisms levelled at the anti-smoking ban, at least pictures no longer look faded and dirty, paintwork usually looks quite clean and there is normally a breathable environment in which to dine.

The garlic bread was perfectly cooked, two diagonal slices of French stick, coated in garlic butter and topped by a nice stringy cheese, which Elspeth described as superb.

The salmon consisted of neatly breaded and deep-fried fingers of salmon accompanied by a ramekin of tartare sauce and, as The Boy passed me a morsel to taste, I can tell you that the flavour was wonderful and the coating was fresh.

My rough Ardennes-style liver pâté was utterly delicious, accompanied by four "soldiers" of freshly toasted granary bread and a ramekin of cranberry pickle.

All three plates had been decorated with a radish "rose", some fresh green leaves and halved baby tomatoes.

It was an impressive start to a meal and each of the servings was generous in portion size. The table was cleared speedily by our hostess, who soon returned with our main courses.

Placed in front of Elspeth was an unadulterated slice of fillet beef, which had been promised as 8oz, although it looked more like the cooked weight. As she sliced into its medium-rare finish, it gave all the signs of having been grilled to perfection and, judging by the way her knife virtually fell through the meat, it was free of gristle and fat.

It was accompanied by a large white baked potato, two beef tomato halves, petit pois, some sliced white-cap mushrooms and three freshly beer-battered onion rings. Although she professed to not being a fan of tomatoes, she loved the onion rings and the fluffy spud and described the fillet as considerably above expectations. The additional, freshly prepared, pepper-cream sauce was brought to her in a separate boat.

The Boy's duck breast was a splendid example, also cooked to a pinky-perfection but clad in wine reduction that tasted wonderful. The new potatoes were fresh and deliciously earthy and the garden peas were equally fresh and flavoursome.

He enjoyed his main course immensely and worried that he might not leave enough space for dessert.

My brisket of beef had been long and slow-cooked, finished in a fabulous shallot and bacon sauce, while the chips were freshly cut and deep fried to a golden-bronzed perfection. A generous serving of petit pois that also tasted as if they had been picked that very morning shared space on the impeccably clean white, square dinner plate.

In all cases, the meats were tasty and cooked to a high level of competence. The beef on my plate literally fell apart on introducing my cutlery to it and the flavours were definable and truly exceptional. The vegetables had also been chosen well and treated carefully to retain the maximum amount of flavour and good consistency.

For dessert, we chose again from the blackboard, Elspeth selecting the orange chocolate pudding with Cornish ice-cream, which oozed the lightly orange-flavoured, dark chocolate sauce from its dark brown sponge cake base. Although a minor complaint, Elspeth said that she could taste that the ice-cream had little bits of ice in it, which suggested that it had been removed and replaced in the freezer on several occasions.

The Boy's lumpy-bumpy toffee cake consisted of a coffee-flavoured sponge base, on which was placed a mixture of cream and toffee sauce, the whole cake topped by fudge icing and tiny chunks of chewy toffee fudge, which he finished entirely and described as "more-ish". It was accompanied by fresh pouring cream.

My pie was lacking in the red fruit but the apple was lovely, as was the shortcrust pastry and the custard. Although the desserts were not prepared on the premises, at least they were edible and a good choice.

My thanks go again to Mr Hardy for his suggestion of the Eyre Arms, which is not that far from Lincoln centre.

Elspeth was delightfully engaging company and, while The Boy and her disappeared on our arrival back at Chez FM, Mrs FM could hardly contain herself with wishing to know more about the new girlfriend.