Though my birthdays seem these days rather more a cause for commiseration than celebration, the excuse for a good dinner, which this increasingly dismal anniversary supplies, is not one that should be shunned. Of course, when one writes a column such as this an excuse is hardly necessary, there being an obvious reason for a weekly feast. Better perhaps, then, to mark a special occasion by staying at home. I shall therefore pretend that it was entirely in the selfless service of my readers that I set off once more on pleasure bent. As regular readers of this column will know, I seize every opportunity I can to travel ‘on business’ by public transport (on which, before I am much older I shall be able to ride free – but enough on this subject). This is not just because I can enjoy a glass or two of wine (though this is important). I like buses (and trains) for their own sake. The bus service to Witney I find particularly appealing. It supplies a short and pretty ride to a town which, for us in Oxford, has a pleasant feel of being ‘somewhere else’. It is also a town well supplied with good places to eat, a stand-out among them being The Fleece with its Trollopian location amid the weathered stone buildings lining Church Green. This is a popular and well-managed establishment operated by Peach Pubs, an admirable company which also runs (among other places) The Fishes in North Hinksey and The Thatch at Thame. Among its claims to fame are the introduction of a ‘deli board’ range of cheeses, charcuterie, fish and the like, which can be enjoyed either as starters, nibbles or as a sharing plate. In the years since they first appeared, I have been amused to note the steady adoption of the idea by rival establishments. Imitation remains, as ever, the sincerest form of flattery. Our sunny journey from Oxford was enjoyed on the top deck of the bus, what used to be known in my youth as the ‘upper saloon’ where in those days, and for long afterwards, smoking was permitted. That it was now seems quite astonishing. In years to come people are going to think it remarkable, too, that cigarettes were tolerated for so long in pubs. In the meantime, there are still Jeremiahs around who are blaming the demise of pubs on ‘the ban’. These, I would suggest, might usefully study the example set by Peach Pubs which continues to expand, even through a recession, by attracting to its pubs all those who might have visited them as they used to be, along with many of those who most definitely would not have done. The Fleece was packed on this Friday night. I had fortunately had the foresight to reserve a table in the bar earlier in the day; it was the only one in the place still free. Having settled ourselves at it, we were soon studying the menu and enjoying our first sips of the Chilean semillon sauvignon and, in my case (Rosemarie doesn’t like them), the taste of a remarkably generous dish of olives – some black, some green; some pitted, some not. The orders having been made we were pleased to see how quickly, even on this very busy night, the kitchen team was able to perform. To start, I went for the home-made gravadlax, which had a delicious sweetcured flavour, its soft texture complemented by the crispness of the dish of warm thyme rosti beneath. A welcome liquid ingredient ws supplied by crème fraiche flavoured with horseradish. I can’t deny, too, that the dish also benefited from the generous dollop of potted Dorset crab transferred from my companion’s plate to mine. As a birthday treat, Rosemarie declined the reciprocal deal I proposed. The crab came with watercress and granary bread toast. My choice of main course had required no study of the menu, since the warmly attentive waitress had mentioned it to us as one of the two specials as she settled us at the table. It consisted of two cylinders formed from strips of tender rabbit meat wrapped around a central core of apricot and chopped pork. These had been baked to the degree that they were well-cooked but still moist and juicy, and served with a tasty stew of vegetables, including potatoes, carrots, courgettes and onion. In additiion (and not exactly necessary in the circumstances) I had a £2.50 side order of al dente green bean, peas and courgette slices. Rosemarie was happy, too, with her Kelmscott ham hock hash (provenance of ingredients is commendably given for some dishes) served with a poached free-range egg and hollandaise sauce. After this, she found room for a slice of excellent pear, chocoloate and almond tart, followed by a mouthful or two of the three cheeses I selected from the deli-board range – Quenby Hal stilton, a mild brie and Duckett’s caerphilly. Eager to stretch this birthday evening out a little longer, I offered to buy us both a glass of fizz around the corner at the Hollybush, in Corn Street. Much enjoyed it was – until we returned to Market Square for the bus home, and saw the last one of the night disappearing out of view. That meant a £38 taxi ride home. Public transport – it sucks!