WE passed fields of opium poppies in full bloom as we made our way through gloriously lush country lanes in our quest to find a pub which had eluded us for months.

My colleague Chris described it as one of those well-hidden secrets that I would simply adore once we found it.

He had been taken to The Black Horse, Checkendon, by a friend a couple of years ago and had raved about the unspoiled nature of the pub ever since.

"You really will love it; it's in a time warp and the beer is great," he assured me, as I made yet another U-turn in our frustrating search for its whereabouts.

In the end, we stopped at a garage in Stoke Row and asked the mechanics there if they knew of the pub. They laughed. "It might not be open. It's their own pub, so they open when they want to, you know. If you really want to go there, then turn back towards Nuffield, take the little road to Checkendon on the left-hand side and then the first right."

Turning my faithful old Mini round yet again, we finally discovered the track which would lead us to this elusive little pub.

Then there it was, a long redbrick building which apparently dates back to the 18th century, but remains firmly in the middle of the 20th.

We were given warm old fashioned greetings by a couple of regulars sitting outside enjoying the sunshine and an equally warm welcome by the licensees, Martin and Margaret Morgan, who have been running the Black Horse for more than 40 years. It's actually been in Margaret's family for more than a hundred years, which makes it one of those rare and special places which has remained untouched by the brewery giants.

The interior, with its walls yellowed by years of tobacco smoke, consisted of two small rooms, the bar area and the sitting room next door, which was fitted out with armchairs and a settee.

The three real ales offered were stored in a small room next to the bar - there are no bar pumps here. Martin just vanishes into the beer 'cupboard' with an empty glass and returns with a full one. And what a great choice. I had Old Father Thames, brewed by West Berkshire Brewery at nearby Thatcham, which proved a classic pale ale offering all those delightful hoppy flavours I was anticipating. Good Old Boy, also brewed by this brewery, was on tap too. Chris chose Butler's Oxfordshire Bitter, which had a simply delightful hop aroma. As this is brewed on the historic Mapledurham Estate in south Oxfordshire, this is a local brew too.

I cannot give you a long list of dishes featured on the menu, as baguettes were all that was on offer. They were priced at £2.15 for ham, beef or cheese with either tomato, lettuce, onion, cucumber or pickle. A salad baguette was £1.85.

That was it, unless, like us, you want to top up your food intake with a packet of crisps. We were quite happy with that: Chris had warned me that the most I should expect was a sandwich.

Payment proved a bit of a problem as the pub had not bowed to the need for a machine to process credit cards, but Martin kindly accepted a cheque, which was placed in an old wooden pull-out drawer designed to take cash.

We sat outside and enjoyed the rural scene, while munching on our baguettes and chatting to John and Carole Loverage, who proudly elaborated on their links with The Black Horse.

During the years I've been writing up pubs for The Herald newspapers, I have visited many fine establishments, eaten some glorious meals and drunk some remarkable beers, but the simplicity of this delightful pub that refuses to join the 21st century really got to me. I just hope my Mini can find its way there again.