When I lived in London I really couldn't get excited about fox hunting or hare hounding or deer dogging, it just all felt too alien – and anyway what about the hunting of humans that goes on all over the world every day? However, when you spend time in the backwaters of Kent and East & West Sussex you really do feel obliged to take sides; and if any place is going to make you take sides it is the Well Diggers Arms in deepest darkest Western Sussex.

The Well Diggers is one of those Pubs that only has locals, and those who accidentally come a calling. You know, the kind of place where folk go quiet when you touch the door handle and all you can hear is the creaking of twenty brass necks turning toward you.
This tiny two room Pub plays on its familiarity with the punters, you get banter between the female staff constantly (well slag ups, not banter really) and some of the argument is actually recorded in chalk on the beams – hilarious I'm sure, unless of course 'you're not from round 'ere' and you don't get the jokes. This banter is mixed with welcoming signs like 'Bullocks to the EU' and 'English spoken here – pounds and ounces' . Anyway we didn't know any of this until we wandered in one weekday lunchtime on the recommendation of the AA Pub Guide 2004. We didn't feel comfortable from the beginning, the barmaid said 'take that table, sit opposite each other, that's how it works here, because people will join you at the table' aaaahhh. We wanted to comment on this and everything else, like pictures of Churchill and horsey doggy stuff, but the thing is the place is so small that every word of every conversation is heard, so effectively you either contribute to the ongoing saga or you watch as though at a recording of the Archers in a very small studio. The talk was mostly of misspellings on the menu (spinage anyone?), the local Shoot, the Pub's very own 2005 Calendar £10 (every penny to charity) but mostly how great it is just to be right.

The menu was smug and expensive, steaks all over £14, Dover Sole £19.50, etc.
I had fish soup ( my favourite thing in the whole world) which came as a watery light red liquid (reminiscent of tinned tomatoes); there were four small prawns and three mussels floating in it and it tasted as wet as it looked. My chauffeur had a very pleasing burger – pinky inside, fat and homemade, though the chips weren't. We ate, we drank and we left quickly.

This place is so smug about its menu, its 'characters' and its politics you can almost hear it humming. Even if none of the punters were fox hunters (and I'm taking a wild guess that they were),I'm glad that country folk can't now spend their weekends getting dressed up and watching dogs eat a fox (or whatever it is they think is excellent fun – my city friends can no longer bait their bears or fight with their cocks! So fairs fair). But hold on, they might replace it with hunting people they don't like, so let's ban the countryside and all who live there. Here's to the tolerance of the urban dweller!

Don't go to the Well Diggers Arms, the food is wet, its expensive and even though they have never met you, they don't like you. REJECTED HAVOC