IT was the first day of the football season, Guisborough Town v Horden Colliery Welfare. In exchange for the promise of lunch at Gisborough Hall, The Boss was persuaded to drive the bus.

Gisborough Hall, it should at once be said, is the correct spelling. When the hotel was relaunched a couple of years ago, Lord Gisborough himself was reported occasionally to tickle the ivories.

In that case, it's time he faced the music.

We arrived at 1.10pm and headed for the Library Bar, spacious and comfortable save for the damn fool tables, barely 18 inches off the carpet, from which folk are expected orientally to eat. Christie's catalogues and country house magazines offered spurs to the upwardly mobile.

Just four others were in the bar, though a wedding party hovered uncertainly elsewhere, as if anxious to be plighting its troth. A tray of electric bulbs sat on the counter, perhaps for a light meal.

The Boss wasn't amused, either.

Since no one appeared behind the bar, we perused the menu - sandwiches around £4.50, main meals like Greek or Caesar salad, confit duck leg or steamed steak and wild mushroom pudding for around £8.

After ten minutes, a barman finally put his head above the parapet. We asked for a large bottle of mineral water, two glasses and some food.

The food was finished, he said, adding that they stopped serving at two o'clock.

We pointed out that a) the menu clearly offered meals from 12-2.30 and b) that in any case, there was still an hour and 40 minutes to the big kick off.

"The chef's very busy," replied the poor lad. We asked if the chef weren't supposed to be, stopped the mineral water tap and left in a huff. Is this what they mean by living like a lord?

"Absolutely pathetic," said The Boss.

Non-U, at least.

HELL having no fury like a woman scorned, as Mr William Congreve almost observed, we offered instead to buy her a pie and a Bovril at Guisborough Town FC.

Though two years ago they'd been voted the Albany Northern League's top tea hut, won £100 cash and £50 worth of 99 Tea bags from the Co-op, she remained inexplicably unenthusiastic. It wasn't even half time.

Jilted, we adjourned on the rebound to Pinchinthorpe Hall, on the Great Ayton side of Guisborough, greeted at the entrance by a framed restaurant review headed "Make time for a treat".

"It can't be one of yours then," said The Boss.

We'd last eaten in the bistro in July 1998, a night so cold that the log fires blazed, chuntering chiefly about the cost - £55 without drinks.

Now things seemed altogether more reasonable - £7.95 for a three-course lunch and with a glass of wine or half of beer thrown in. Another wedding party was arriving, morning suited to a T and in a stretch limousine twice the length of the last bus to Catterick but probably not so overflowing with alcohol.

Just two others lunched late in the bistro.

The 17th century hall is also home to the North Yorkshire Brewery, who offer a stable of organically brewed real ales with names like Love Muscle ("a loveable golden ale"), Golden Ginseng ("vitality giving beer") and Rocket Fuel ("guaranteed to go down with a bang.") Four were on offer, all over 4.5abv - a strong indicator of limited choice.

Another press cutting told how Flying Herbert, the brewery's best known ale, had to be tested for radio-activity before being exported to Japan.

The menu also had four choices in each section, which meant neither fish nor salad among the mains but an enjoyable penne pasta dish - "someone's made this tomato sauce," said The Boss, curiously - and sausages and cheesy mash which were a bit kizzened, as they used to say on Wearside.

The young waitress was pleasant and properly attentive, the room stone floored, the tables made from an oak tree which once grew in the grounds. The starters - courgette soup and melon rosette with a fruit compote - were fine. And just £7.95 for three courses, remember.

We finished with a crusty bread and butter pudding and custard and with creme caramel, thought them perfectly enjoyable and asked for the bill.

That it took ages to arrive may, with hindsight, have been because the poor little kid was petrified to proffer it.

A pint of beer - no middle man, no transport costs - had been £2.85, a half pint of sparkling mineral water £2.65. We choked on the water, then queried it. She vanished, consulted, returned, announced - ha! - that she must have pressed the wrong buttons on the till and diluted each glass of water to £1.25.

And the beer? "£2.85 is the correct price," she insisted.

Once again, we felt like a groom left standing. How soon the flame of love can die.

JUST a few miles from Guisborough, a new face in the kitchen at Chapters in Stokesley, a restaurant owned by former journalist Alan Thompson and his wife Catherine.

Neal Bullock, Middlesbrough lad, was catering student of the year at Darlington College, headed across the border, worked at the Hilton in Glasgow, was head chef at the Malmaison and is now back to his roots.

"He'll introduce a different quality of food to the area," says Alan.

"Cleveland generally has a bad reputation for food," says Neal.

THE highly popular Imperial Express in Darlington is to open a sister restaurant in Northallerton High Street, open from 8am and run along much the same lines. "We feel Northallerton is just the right place for this sort of development," says manager James Butterworth. The new place, open from mid-September, will be called The Caf. They spend ages dreaming up names like that.

THE piece a couple of columns ago on the White Hart in Hart Village, near Hartlepool - the pub owned by former Sunderland and Ireland footballer Niall Quinn - also mentioned that Hart had been the home of Voltigeur, the celebrated 19th century racehorse whose best friend was the stable cat.

There were two cats, it transpires. Lord Zetland, one of whose ancestors owned the horse, has a portrait of Voltigeur and the two tortoiseshells on the wall at Aske Hall, near Richmond.

Marcus Armytage in last Tuesday's Telegraph added that among Lord Zetland's other heirlooms was one of Voltigeur's cannon bones, mounted in a glass case.

"It will be a valuable source of DNA for the Marquess's heirs," added the Telegraph, "should cloning ever take off."

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew how you get down from an elephant.

You don't, you get it from ducks.

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