Foresters Arms, Carlton-in-Coverdale

MIKE and Claire Chambers were British Airways cabin crew, between them 30 years before the massed, until last year investing all their savings in a "dream" pub.

What happened next - more precisely, what failed to happen - lends itself to all manner of puns from rude awakening to coming down to earth with a bump. So far, at any rate, the Foresters Arms at Carlton-in-Coverdale hasn't had the sort of lift-off they'd have liked.

Claire wrote here a couple of months back. "It's somewhat aptly known as the forgotten dale, " she said. "We just haven't had enough people through the door."

Described on the village noticeboard as "one of the quietest and most tranquil of the dales", Coverdale runs westwards from Middleham - horse racing country - in North Yorkshire.

Once, says the noticeboard, Carlton was on the "strategic route" between the castles at Lancaster, Skipton and Middleham and also on the coach road - discursive but doubtless strategic - between London and Richmond.

A 19th century pub was called the XYZ, after a champion gallower of those parts.

Whatever else may now have bypassed the stone built village, serenity has not. It's wonderful up there. Though the post office is long closed, there's a Methodist chapel, a tiny Anglican church dedicated to Christ the Good Shepherd - where, appropriately, a lambing service had been held a few days previously - a village hall and a plaque commemorating the residence of Henry Constantine, "the bard of Coverdale".

A pre-prandial dander down the middle of the road is threatened only by a chap on a push bike, who rings his bell cheerfully. If ever they make another Hovis commercial, this place would be bread and butter.

The Foresters, about which we have written under previous owners, would be a very good pub even if the food comprised nothing more adventurous than cellophane sandwiches and sell-by snacks.

The classic bar has stone flags and wooden tables, a wonderful, woodsmoky fire at one end and Wensleydale Brewery beers on tap. The brewery began there, but now rolls out its barrels near Leyburn.

Another room sits to one side, a rack offering country magazines, the restaurant on the other side has been "refreshed" by the new arrivals. The pub's literature describes it as elegant.

We eat by the fire, the younger bairn also in attendance. Two diners have just left, another couple arrives shortly afterwards but - three's a crowd - take themselves off into the other room. In the next two hours, Wednesday evening, only one other person comes in, a local drinking Coca Cola. No offence to Coke, but it seems an awful waste of good beer.

The menu's on blackboards by the fire, the food locally sourced where possible. Claire - CJ to her husband - is in the galley, he's on the flight deck. The Carpenters, who get around so much they could have a circular saw, sing quietly on the music machine.

The bairn is recalling his travels around Europe, especially the time when a dozen of them had to sleep in a Romanian school corridor. "We called it the corridor of uncertainty, " he says, and they dossed with their valuables in their sleeping bags.

Our three starters are duck spring rolls with a sweet chilli dip - "beaut, " says the bairn - roasted vegetables with grilled goats' cheese ("a lovely combination, " says The Boss) and tomato, chilli and borlotti bean soup which may have been reheated once too often.

The bairn follows with Yorkshire lamb Valentine with a rosemary and redcurrant sauce, considers it "beaut" but a little expensive at £12.50, the lady enjoys a perfectly tender salmon fillet with an appetising honey mustard dressing.

The chicken breast with lime and ginger cream is as succulent a bird, as crisply roasted, as may have ranged our way for years.

She orders a "really sharp" lemon possett with which to finish, the bairn a chocolate brownie with white chocolate and Cointreau sauce and ice cream which he supposes not just "beaut" but "really beaut" by way of increasing his word power.

The food bill for three is about £54.

Mike and Claire seem pleased to see us, as doubtless they'd be pleased to see anyone. They insist that they love it, have no plans to take off again, are in Coverdale for the long haul.

The Foresters Arms, Carlton-inCoverdale, Leyburn, North Yorkshire (01969 640272). Closed all day Monday and Tuesday lunchtime.

Three letting bedrooms. Steps down to the pub.

DIZZY heights, astronomical prices, we reported last week that in the sixth floor restaurant at the Baltic Arts Centre in Gateshead, a pint bottle of Theakston's was £4 95.

Probably the most expensive beer in the world? Alan Wright tops it.

Alan, Hartlepool-based writer, broadcaster and after-dinner speaker, recently held sway at one of London's best known hotels. "As you'll know, " he says, "after holding forth for 45 minutes every fibre of your being demands a cold beer."

He wandered into the bar, greeted by a waiter with crisp white jacket and crisper accent. As requested, he poured a half bottle of beer. "That'll be £6.50, sir, " he said.

Alan, who can do posh, reverted in shock back to his native tongue. "'ow much?" he demanded.

The waiter recognised the accent, changed his tune, announced that he was from Middlesbrough. "'ave it on this lot, like" he added. The most expensive glass of beer had become the cheapest at a stroke.

MIIKE Morrissey, secretary of Saltburn Christian Aid, also notes the column's panic upon rising more than two feet above terra firma. Definitely no heights involved, he says, when Emmanuel Church in the town holds its soup and cheese lunch next Sunday, followed by an inter-church service. "No-one, " he adds, "has ever gone to an Emmanuel soup and cheese lunch and left hungry."

IF the Church Times is to be believed - and if you can't believe the Church Times, what can you? - the Church Commissioners are still considering selling Auckland Castle, long home to the bishops of Durham and these days an up-market venue for all manner of events.

It would be a pity to lose it. Last weekend's real ale festival was terrific.

Organised by Bishop Auckland and Spennymoor Round Table, it attracted hundreds to a posh marquee out the back. Even the present bishop looked in from his labours, had a half of Old Vinovian and, thus refreshed, flew off to Canada.

Around 50 cask ales had the usual wacky names, unusual sponsors. They included Travic Chemicals, Smith Roddam solicitors and even Mr Pennington the undertaker. Jokes flowed like Orkney Skullsplitter.

The sausages - pork, apple and cider or venison and stout - were made by Country Valley Foods from Hurworth Moor, near Darlington, sold out on the first day.

The only disappointment was that Amos Ale wasn't available, Simon Gillespie of the Wear Valley Brewery decreeing that it's been "put on the back burner", which may not do it much good.

It's replaced in Wear Valley's affections by a beer called Blonde.

Gentlemen prefer it, anyway.

LAST week's column recalled former US vice-president Dan Quayle's problems with spelling, particularly fruit and vegetables.

Coincidentally, a new book called Brewers Famous Quotations, landed on the desk. Desperate Dan's in that, too.

"Space is almost infinite, " he said.

"As a matter of fact, we think it is infinite."

The vice-president, adds Brewers, became noted when in office for his "eccentric and often idiotic statements." He couldn't spell potatoes or tomatoes, either.

Sub-titled "5,000 quotations and the stories behind them", the book is published by Orion (£25. ) . . . and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what's green and holds up stage coaches.

Dick Gherkin, of course.