IN the decorative capacity for which the column is understandably and rightly renowned, we had been the guest speaker in May at Weardale Flower Club's golden jubilee dinner.

The theme was of considering the lilies of the field - how they grow - the meal very much better than the talk was.

It was at the Horsley Hall Hotel, near Eastgate, up a half forgotten back road signed to Brotherlee and Hasswicks. In an attempt to justify the headline "Brotherlee love" we had appealed for news of golden weddings, engagement parties or even affectionate mother hens from up there.

Nothing was forthcoming. The fraternity now has a second chance.

The return to Horsley Hall was for Sunday lunch - lovely setting, high quality cooking and, above all, a hugely civilised occasion.

Both of us were reminded of Swinton Castle, near Masham - the region's best Sunday lunch - though Swinton is grander yet, and with many more acres in which to work up an appetite.

"It's where you fell asleep in the lounge with The Observer over your head," said The Boss, always anxious for a scoring opportunity and, like dear old Thierry, deadly in front of goal.

Two courses are £10.50, three courses £13.50. Bookings only. The only other diners were a group of elderly farmers - you can tell farmers, they speak with their mouths full - dropping dale names like Emerson, Peart and Campbell like the prize list at Stanhope Show.

Liz Curry, who has transformed the three-storey manor house these past five years, has also become an enthusiastic ambassador for Weardale and its many splendours. The week afterwards she was off on a promotional visit to Bergen.

Baroque music played as we arrived. Perhaps knowing the column's usual irritation at such things, Liz switched it off. Somewhere there was a line about if it aint Baroque, don't fix it, but we couldn't quite work it out.

The dining room - baronial hall, they're given to calling it - is exceptionally attractive, with an elegant ceiling and almost as many flowers as on that merry May evening.

We'd begun with mushrooms in a garlic cream sauce, as smooth and successful a combination as memory allows, and with good bread left for dunking.

"You can't be taken anywhere," said The Boss.

"It's what the barons would have done," we retorted, inarguably.

She'd begun with grilled peach with cream cheese and Cheddar, enjoyed it so greatly that she pondered having the same for pudding.

Pork wellington, the meat topped with pate and more mushrooms, worked with very good pastry, though the real highlight was the vegetables - simple, carefully cooked, spot on.

The Boss had salmon with a tarragon hollandaise sauce. Even the water seemed purer up there.

Since none of the puddings appealed to her, she wondered if there might be something a bit more tangy. Liz said they could knock up a crepe suzette - a dish upon which The Boss reckons herself something of an expert. The best two in history, she said, had been at the Black Bull, in Moulton and in Wenceslas Square, in Prague. This one split the two front runners, and you can't get a Weardale bus to Prague. Whatever the season, the drive up is lovely, too.

* Horsley Hall Hotel, Eastgate, County Durham (01388) 517239. Booking essential at all times, but Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch usually available. Liz Curry also offers "creative cookery" courses, function catering and shooting parties.

ONE of these columns was going on the other day about the legendary Durham Ox, after which 17 pubs are still named. One's The Comet at Hurworth Place, near Darlington, where in honour of the great beast, they're now offering 32oz rump steaks - and a prize for those who can clear the plate.

DIDIER de Ville, the scarlet pimpernel of North-East gastronomy, is on the move again. As forecast hereabouts a few weeks ago, Didi - as apparently he is known to his friends - pitched up last week at the Black Horse in Kirkby Fleetham, near Northallerton.

The familiar Frenchman has also got himself married, once in England and once over there - "but to the same lady, I believe," says Valerie Tait, who runs the pub with David Morrison, the world's oldest wicket keeper.

There are half a dozen real ales, too. "The whole village is gossiping about the place," says Valerie - dit de la ville, as possibly they say elsewhere.

More from the sign of the Black Horse very shortly.

ALWAYS honest, we confessed while enthusing over the Smiths Arms at Carlton, near Stockton, a couple of weeks back to not having a clue what puy lentils might be.

Bishop Auckland exile Bill Taylor, now in Canada, writes that they originated from the Le Puy district of Auvergne in France - old Didier would have known that - are sometimes called French greens and have a fine green skin with blue speckles.

Unhappily, since he took O-level German, Bill can't help with the pronunciation. Happily, there's another e-mail from Elizabeth Johnston.

"It's 'pwee'," she says. Team work.

LUNCH in the Green Room next to Hexham railway station. Though the town is pleasant and the station Grade II listed - and close enough for the tables to tremble when the 1.45 goes past - there's really no need to be envious.

The room is pleasant, the service civil, the crockery decorated with the sort of two eyes and a mouth motif which clever folk can do on their computers.

One way up it's meant to resemble a smiling face, the other it's raised eyebrows. The second seemed more appropriate.

A big bowl of curried parsnip soup (£3.50) was hot and creamy but about as spicy as the centre spread in Reveille.

A main course of chorizo and king prawn salad with lemon, chives and garlic offered sausage which was not only overcooked but from which the bitterness had infused everything else. The sauce closely resembled engine oil.

It's a restaurant, not a station buffet. A platform, it's to be hoped, on which they can build better things.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what's black and comes out of the sea shouting "Knickers".

Crude oil, of course.

Published: 11/11/2003