A courgette, a banana, plastic window frames, and a lesson from the Holy Land

You know you're tired when it takes two hours for the thought "why is there a black banana in the fridge" to become "it's not a black banana in the fridge; it's a courgette, a green courgette. I have never seen a black banana in our fridge ever before".

I hadn't had more than four hours of consecutive sleep in about two years, so maybe my guard was down. For what other reason was I about to almost stop loathing plastic windowframes in pubs? And what do you call a run of non-sequiturs?

I had about £7 sterling left in my bank account and, before you judge me, after all the bills were paid and the boy had a new pair of secondhand shoes, and after the usual endless toll of housework-after-work, I decided to go loco and spend all my "spare" loot on ale in local pubs. You should do the same if you're ever in the same twist. What else are you going to do? Buy two "meal deals" from a chemist? I don't think so, chico.

We set off, pockets full of valued metal, my friend and I, amid the amber dying of a midsummer North Devon Saturday. The severe British recession, caused, I thought as I strolled cheerfully along, by a ludicrous and disgusting property bubble and its greedy spivs, had not abated since our last Adam's Ales investigation in Barnstaple, despite our government attempting to reinflate the ludicrous and disgusting property bubble by giving all our money to the greedy spivs who naffed it all up in the first place, and, as before, many pubs were half-empty; I don't think they will, alas, all survive the year.

We walked past a former dive by the riverfront which Wetherspoon's are refitting and turning into their second pub in the town. As I have mentioned before, Wetherspoon's will survive anything; they are unfailingly popular, like Tesco. What else is there to say?

INTERLUDE...I was once sleeping in a hot hovel, a bit like a cave, in Jerusalem, when a red beetle buzzed heavily on to my bed. I whacked it and slammed it with my boot but the biting creature was totally indestructible. That's not a non sequitur; that's a lesson from nature. The lesson is: even the insects are awkward in the holy land...INTERLUDE ENDS

Anyway, enough of those memories of the holy land. Pubs are where English men and women should be able to talk freely (as long as they aren't talking about house prices). At the risk of starting another interlude, imagine keeping a tally of the topics of conversation in North Devon pubs in one hour of one evening. It would provide unique anthropological data and a snapshot of our lives. Entry One: Wilshaw is condemning the idea of using homes as investment vehicles. Anyway, enough of those anthropological studies and interludes; they are nearly as relevant as the immortal beetles of Jerusalem. Back to the courgette.

Of course I always knew of the Windsor Arms in Bradiford, a village on the outskirts of town. I live nearby and have been past the place many times. I have always been struck by the plastic windowframes. Now I was forced to confront my irrational dislike of PVC windowframes in public houses, particularly old country alehouses.

I know, I know, I know. Plastic is cheaper, lasts longer, gives better weather protection, and pubs have hardly got any spare cash to lavish on wooden sash window frames. I know. I know I'm a bit of a fanatic when it comes to plastic windowframes in pubs. In short, I hate them as much as I would a PVC frame in the local Victorian church.

But, I will say this: the Windsor Arms is one of the best pubs around. It is a Proper Local, with character and decent beer, as well as a cosy and unpretentious decor and atmosphere, not to mention the superb shove ha'penny. You should go there without question, my friends. They had Barum on draft from the nearby Pilton brewery of the same name, as well as a refreshing and well-cellared scoop of London Pride. Depressingly, the pub was almost deserted when we arrived at peak drinking time. Was everyone in Wetherspoon's or drinking beer from Tesco at home? We also called in for one at the Corner House in the town centre, which, I am glad to say, was packed out in full 1970s-style boozer mode. I've written about that place before, so I won't go on. If you want to pretend you are in an episode of Life on Mars, it's the place for you. It's great.

And it's strange how things are not always as they might at first seem. The next day I looked in the fridge and just could not believe my peepers. There, as bold as busts of Blair and Bush on a brass bedpost, was a black banana on one shelf and a courgette on another. This could only be a lesson from nature and the lesson was...er, hang on...

The Windsor Arms, Bradiford, Barnstaple

Adam's Ale Rating: 4 out of 5

Drink This: Barum Original or London Pride