We say goodbye to a faithful old friend

The festive season has once again come and gone in a blur of frantic goodwill to all and sundry. It was a particularly successful December, with excellent sales growth, notably in the earlier weeks of the month.

We also managed, for the first time in living memory, to escape the throes of Christmas without any major breakdowns - equipment, communication or nervous.

We even managed to have a new carpet laid throughout the ground floor and a tiled apron put down around the bar.

The old carpet had been with us since our arrival in Hunton, and was viewed as something of a faithful old retainer that had seen us through the bad times but which finally had to go.

In truth it represented the last vestige of the pub that we bought six years ago. Our refurbishment is now about complete, except that it is time to start again in certain places.

Helen arrived back from Australia at the end of November, but is already counting down to our annual break in January. Perhaps foolishly, I am committed to an evening of Goan cuisine in February, and feel obliged to go there to research the dishes and ingredients involved - at least that's my excuse!

It was while collecting Helen from Manchester Airport that I realised just how "countrified" I had become.

We are often asked if we could ever go back to life in the big city, and have usually replied that we possibly could. However, having risen early to arrive at the airport in plenty of time, I ground to a halt five miles from the airport.

There had been a minor accident in Stockport and the world stopped. In the next hour I travelled in first gear a total of two-and-a-half miles.

I arrived an hour late for the flight, much to the disgust of the arrivals. I wonder how I used to cope with urban life.

There is, after all, some evidence that we are being accepted into the local community. For the past five years we have done a function to which a local farmer is invited. In previous years, attempts at conversation had met with a stony rebuff.

This year I finally managed a brief exchange, and asked if he had enjoyed his meal. He looked grim before a fleeting smile and said: "Aye, t'were awright, lad!" That was possibly the greatest compliment of the season.

Ian Vipond is chef-patron of the New Inn, a free house pub in Hunton on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales

Next diary from Ian Vipond: 15 February