Remembering the warmth of the greeting I received on my last visit in 1999, and the fine plate of liver and bacon I devoured whilst sunning myself in its delightful little garden, I assured my colleague Chris I had chosen the perfect place to eat al fresco.

My mistake was in assuming a pub which was simply buzzing with life almost a decade ago would be as popular now. It was not. We had travelled through leafy lanes, past fields full of buttercups and cowslips to arrive at The Chequers, in Love Lane, Watlington. It's an attractive, whitewashed 17th-century pub on the edge of town.

On my previous visit this pub had appeared an enchanting place. Dried hops were hanging from the ceiling, pewter beer tankards decorated the bar and several Brakspear ales were on tap.

Dog and I had to fight our way to the bar on that visit, nevertheless a menu had been offered promptly and the dog was soon lapping at a bowl of chilled water. Indeed, it offered everything one would expect from a pub. There was something sad about the place this time. We both sensed it the moment we walked in.

Difficult to put my finger on exactly what was missing, besides the buzz and the customers that is. But something was definitely missing. It lacked that welcome feel, it lacked atmosphere, it lacked everything.

But we had driven all the way from Oxford and, as Watlington no longer boasts 15 pubs as it did in the 1970s, reluctantly we decided to stay. Once out in the garden we felt better. It's not a big garden and detritus from the pub was leaning against the pub wall, but the fresh air was welcome.

Having announced that we would like lunch, the licensee said he would come out and take our order, so armed with half a pint of Brakspear Best Bitter and a glass of red wine, we chose our table under the trees.

The licensee arrived without a menu. "Do you want a proper dinner or a sandwich?" he asked.

"A proper meal," I replied.

"Right then, you can have fish and chips, liver and bacon, scampi and chips, cajun chicken or chicken and ham pie, which would you like?" I found myself going for fish and chips and, quite predictably, Chris chose scampi. As we waited for our 'dinner' to arrive, we reminisced about the superb meal we'd had a couple of weeks back at The Goose, Britwell Salome, where we ate two courses fit for a king for just £10.50 each.

We had no idea what we would be charged for this meal, but assumed it would be cheap. Actually, it wasn't that cheap. The total bill (which was not itemised) came to £22. We worked out that by allowing £5 for drinks, the food would have cost about £8.50 a plate.

Given the fish and chips had been cooked in oil that tasted stale and the peas tasted as if they had been stored in an open container in the fridge for several days, it was not money well spent, particularly when we compared it with our lunch at The Goose.

We discovered later that the licensee and his family were due to move out in a couple of weeks as he was fed up with working 100 hours a week for nothing. That accounted for much that we had observed and experienced.

How, we asked ourselves can a pub that has everything going for it - and it really is a pretty little pub - go from being one of the most popular pubs in the district to a place where the licensee sits behind the bar, ignoring his local customers, while he reads the paper and works on the daily crossword puzzle?

The thing that distressed us most, however, was the sight of two wire-haired terriers enclosed in a cage-like structure made from wire fencing, who were pacing backwards and forwards like caged tigers.