MR Michael Winner, who writes a highly entertaining restaurant column for The Sunday Times and makes some pretty execrable commercials for the television, is given to using the word "historic" when in search of superlatives.

A meal may be "utterly historic" or even "almost historic." Both appear semantically acceptable, if a little imprecise.

It's different with "unequivocal." The Eating Owt column holds the word "unequivocal" - meaning unambiguous or emphatic - under close confinement.

It is allowed out reluctantly, like a lifer at his grandma's funeral, and only then on the strict parole condition that it avoids opportunist and undesirable adverbs.

Like "almost unique", it doesn't seem possible to be fairly unequivocal. Something's either unequivocal or it isn't. So what of the Black Bull at Frosterley?

Well, it's delightful. Just off the main road through Weardale, the pub has been owned since the end of last summer by Duncan Davis and his wife Diane, assisted by their three children.

They'd previously had a coffee house in Northumberland - another story - before spending £300,000 on whatever is the timelessly appealing opposite of modernisation.

The ale is from small North-East breweries and kept impeccably. Real cider, too, lager having immediately and unceremoniously been shown the door. The brewery thought he was barmy,

The food is wholesome, locally sourced, full flavoured and free of pretension; the furnishings are traditional, the idiosyncratic atmosphere ridiculously, retrospectively, relaxing and blessedly smoke-free throughout.

Among much else, Duncan is a professional photographer, some of his impressive portfolio on the walls. He's also a poet, the best of it hung - framed, unashamed - in the netty.

Perhaps the most appealing picture is of a greater spotted pig called (it transpires) Elsie. Elsie lived in Capheaton, Northumberland, in a sty next to the one where Duncan and his fellow bell ringers held their practices.

"She'd wander in from time to time," Duncan recalls. "All things considered, she seemed to quite enjoy it."

Campanology follower, he's now installed a full eight-bell peal in the former store room next to the Black Bull. Last December a team rang all 5,088 changes of Yorkshire Surprise Major - of all the tales of the unexpected - a colourful board in the bar recording for whom the bells tolled.

"I think it may be the first time that a full peal has been rung in an English pub," he says, unanswerably.

Duncan also owns a narrow boat and loves the straight and narrow of Britain's waterways. He plays in a rock band called Three Steps to Hebburn and a skiffle group called Earl Grey and the Charwallahs and has worked for Beamish Museum. Some of the furniture's probably come from there.

There's a proggy mat on the floor, clothes hanging from the rack above one of two coal fired ranges, handbells above the bar, photographs on the way in of those who've played at the Tuesday acoustic evenings. They include Upper Weardale's vicar and also his curate, both giving it what fettle.

The fires are among the responsibilities of Mr Alastair Downie, North-East CAMRA vice-chairman and self-styled Weird Ale Warrior but known thereabouts as the Chief Stoker. His enthusiasm flames equally.

Yet for all that that, for all that bright burnished encomium, Sunday lunch got off to a pretty strange start.

We'd ordered a pint of Magus, from the award winning Durham Brewery. Having seen it paid for, the barman then launched - to another customer - into a visceral tirade against both Durham beer and Durham brewer.

Magus is excellent. Perhaps the moral of the story is never to trust a barman who wears a baseball cap.

We'd booked for second sitting, 2 30pm, were seated in the bay window beneath a yellowed copy of the Licensees' Liability Act of 1863. What basically it said was that the customer is always wrong. Nothing changes there, then.

The menu included pork and root vegetable casserole (£7.50), Wensleydale cheese and apple flan (£6.25), roasts of pork and silverside beef.

The only starter was a white fish, prawn, crab, date and fennel stew - £3.45, or £7.50 as a main course - served with proper bread and butter. We both tried it: deep, different, delicious.

The Boss followed with shredded vegetable quiche with plenty of salad and, memory suggests, a couple of roast potatoes. The pork was from the celebrated Broom Mills Farm at West Auckland, the crackling was just on the blackened side of perfection.

There's nothing fancy-nancy about all this, understand. Al Dente may as well be the Italian ice cream man from Wolsingham. It's like his mother used to make, as Duncan supposes, and none the worse for that.

Conversation turned to Welsh dressers. Other than being born in Aberystwyth, what makes a dresser Welsh? Surprisingly, she didn't know.

We finished with a terrific banoffi roulade and with an orange and ginger cake so well balanced it could have upstaged Blondini. Good coffee, too. The bill for two without drinks was about £27.

The glories of spring still lay ahead. So, starting that night, did a new series of last of the Summer Wine. The day was about anticipation and excitement: the Black Bull is unequivocally fantastic.

*The Black Bull, Frosterley, Co Durham (01388 527784.) Open from 9.30am for scones, coffee and toasties. Meals served all day thereafter but may be closed Monday evenings in winter. No-smoking throughout. Toilets inaccessible for wheelchairs.

THE Wetherspoons chain - in Darlington, Tanners Hall - has a "Curry Club" every Thursday, 5-11pm. Any of nine curries - including rice, poppadoms, naan bread and a little pot of chutney - is £4.49 with a pint or a bottle of something like Stella included.

Chrissie Kelly's email prompted a visit. Every week she and a friend have lunch somewhere around Darlington or the surrounding villages.

One recent meal offered a burger described as "famous", though "notorious" would have been altogether more appropriate. Another, to a country pub upon which the column has long frowned, offered off-hand service and inedible food. "Disgusting, really," says Chrissie.

Once a week, she and her dad also take lunch at Tanners Hall, two meals for £5.79 and clearly popular. It was a bit like that last Thursday evening, probably more in at 5.30pm than in the rest of the town centre pubs put together.

Lamb rogan josh was nothing special, the poppadoms greasy, but what the heck. The onion bhajis were what might be called chip shop bhajis; you could have eaten them all day. An additional pint of Pedigree was £1.39; it's £2.43 in our village pub.

The snooty will look down their noses, others will get change from a fiver.

WORD arrives that dear old Krimo - we knew him when he had nowt but ambition - has opened a third place within 500 yards on Hartlepool Marina. This one's a tapas bar called Casa Del Mar. Another toe in the water shortly.

....and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what's white and fluffy and beats its chest in a cake shop.

A meringue-utang, of course.