THE Fox at Denchworth is one of those brilliant pubs where it feels like you've stepped through a Goodnight Sweetheart portal back in time.

The really tricky thing is deciding exactly what era you have entered.

As I walk through the doors of the 17th century thatched building with its plain white facade, I'm greeted by the site of two locals in Barbours putting the world to rights by the festive fireplace and two ladies at the bar who offer me a drink.

I won't go into detail here about my lifelong frustration at being unable to get a normal-sized glass of pineapple juice anywhere (except the Bear and Ragged Staff at Cumnor), but suffice to say I end up getting two tiny bottles at £1.80 each which fill a half-pint glass.

But that's not the Fox's fault.

When Mrs Hughes arrives we are very cordially led to our table.

To get to the dining room, we first have to squeeze past the punters playing cribbage – a game I didn't know was still played – around the stairs and up a few steps.

We then emerge into a single room with a very high ceiling and a servery at the far end which had something of the youth hostel about it.

As we are sat in the corner by a very warming radiator, it becomes clear they are playing non-stop Elvis Presley through their tiny speaker system.

Combined with the crib and the 17th century wooden beams I'm getting something akin to jetlag, but it's actually quite a comforting discombobulation – almost like those restaurants where you eat in pitch black in order to disorientate you and focus your senses of taste and smell.

The menus offer some 1970s classics like prawn cocktails and garlic mushrooms alongside the more exotic wild boar burger.

We start with the ever-reliable breaded brie wedges, deep-fried and served with cranberry sauce (£5.95). It's not the cheesiest cheese ever, but the sauce has big, juicy chunks of berry in it.

For my main I go for the Thai green vegetable curry served with rice (£9.95).

As a devotee of Thai restaurants, I certainly wouldn't call it authentic: there's something just too-English about the crinkled carrots and French beans, and the rice certainly isn't jasmine, but actually I wasn't after anything fiery or exotic and this hits the spot.

Mrs Hughes's mushroom burger, which you can just see with its mountain of chips in the background, was also fine.

For the prices we were paying I would call it good value grub. The time-travelling experience – priceless.