I'VE always liked one-man bands. From Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins - his attempt at a cockney accent remains the worst in screen history, although he could bang the drum and play the harmonica passably - to the chap with his dog who entertains outside Woolies in Northallerton High Street, I've maintained a fondness for lone musicians making loud and varied noise, even if it sounds awful.

Not that the George & Dragon has anything whatsoever to do with singular bass drum beaters. Sadly in fact, I don't think there was any music playing at all on the Saturday night we visited, certainly not in the charming, intimate little restaurant room.

But this lovely pub is pretty much a one-man band nevertheless, or rather a one-woman band. Sara Eastgate has been licensee, chief cook and bottle washer of the establishment for three years.

Boldron is tucked away - you have to go out of your way to even pass through it. It's just outside Barnard Castle, a mere stomach rumble away from the rumbling A66, and accessible directly off the trunk road; look out for the sign to Boldron.

There is accompaniment from Sara's mother, Sandra Webb, who not only does much of the shopping, but is barmaid and waitress at weekends and busy nights, freeing up her daughter to chain herself to the stove.

My Teesdale-dwelling parents had sung the praises of the pub for some time, so it seemed fitting to get around to trying it out for lunch on Mothering Sunday, complete with mothers and young children (there's no high chair, by the way, but this is, after all, a pub and not a crche).

I was very impressed that day ... as was the mother-in-law.

But we wanted to return without parents and kids, to try out the place in the evening.

It could be the time of year, but it was quiet. Three tables-full on Mothers' Day, and just four diners after 8pm on a Saturday. Two more drinkers joined our select band at the bar by the time we'd returned there for coffee, but it was still quiet - perhaps that's why I noticed the absence of any background music so keenly?

I for one would dearly love to have such a pub as my local, if only because of its perfectly kept pints of Theakstons' Best.

Seasonal variations, Christmas credit card bills and lambing time aside, surely such lack of support all be blamed on more responsible attitudes toward drinking and driving? But then again, the roadside ghosts of converted pubs - as well as planning applications within these pages seeking change-of-use for village inns - argue otherwise...

Anyway, enough moping. The most important thing to say about the G&D is that the food (as with the beer) is very good.

Sunday lunch had come with perfectly-cooked side vegetables in perfect quantities - always my test of pub food perfection.

Combining the experiences of our party of eight (baby Edwin brought his own) and our evening visit, we had intimate knowledge of pretty much all of the small but perfectly formed menu, from the tomato and basil soup (£2.10) slurped by our seven-year-old, through to the smoked salmon rillete (pate on melba toast, £3.95) eaten rather more demurely by my mother-in-law. The caramelised onion and goat's cheese tart (£4.95) was a perfect appetiser.

For the evening visit, Anna declared her pan-fried mushrooms on toast (£3.95) delicious, while black pudding and crispy bacon (£4.25) held few surprises for me, although the promised drizzle of roast garlic dressing was either supplemented by an allium-free alternative, or simply not garlicky enough.

The list of main courses was similarly sampled in a comprehensive manner, from the Sundays-only roast (£4.95) to very nicely done salmon fishcakes (£7.95).

On our recent visit, I had rosemary lamb cutlets (at £9.50, the most expensive menu item was nevertheless nothing much special), while Anna chose a risotto of prawns, lemon and parsley (£7.95). She found it nice enough, but just too lemony.

They came with a cream-soaked baked dish of spuds, carrots and shredded cabbage that were good enough, but paler replacements of those lunchtime side dishes.

To follow, Anna had spooned crme brulee with berryfruit compote (£3.25). This was good, but she confessed to missing the brulee part of this perennial favourite, for it came in large clotted cream-like dollops rather than in a ramekin under its customary hard hat.

I opted for camembert with chilli-spiced almonds (£3.95). This was intriguing: the nut confection resembled peanut brittle but had an excellent chilli-booted kick.

So that made three courses, times two, plus a coffee, a couple of pints and a soft drink for under £40. Fair enough, and significantly better that the appalling excuse for food I've been served for similar money in other pubs.

Leaving the former post office of a dining room (there's still a little let-down flap in one of the doors) and back in the bar, painted a rich warm red, we found mother and daughter relaxing a little, just about at the end of their night.

We ruminated once more on how quiet the place was, and concluded that having the landlady tucked away behind the kitchen door may not help much. Mrs Webb, a retired primary school teacher, does her job efficiently and in a friendly manner, but the place needs more of an anchor. Economies of scale, we presumed, made the arrangement necessary.

Of course, things might be different on a weeknight, or for lunch - the bar meal menu looks excellent, from filled stotties from £2.25 to steak sandwich with chips (£4.50) and bangers and mash (£5.25).

I'd certainly not need persuading to go back again, just to check, you understand. And any excuse to escape the awful A66 for an hour or so would be welcomed.

For now, I'm more than happy to bang the drum for this one-and-a-helper-woman band.