IT came down to an invidious choice on route 66 where, to borrow and modify a line from the jingle which accompanied an old television series, some people get their kicks from overtaking in the daftest of places.

Unwisely, I tried at only three hours' notice and found that the A66 Motel, where the admirably spacious restaurant offers a view of distant Cumbrian hills and articulated lorries from all parts of Europe plying this high trans-Pennine route, was fully booked. No room for even one more pair of legs in the restaurant, apparently, but the bar was still on offer.

Elbow-cramping bar meals not being my preferred way of eating a Sunday lunch a tactical, and tactful, move was called for. Literally over the wall from the A66 Motel is the Smallways, where the restaurant was still available to a late arrival. It was a difficult choice to make because from previous visits I know and respect both establishments.

Having negotiated manic motorcyclists, crawling caravans and a couple of daredevil drivers for seven miles west of Scotch Corner, I pulled into a Smallways car park where space was already at a premium.

On duty behind the bar was co-owner Tony Colwill, rushed off his feet as usual as he pulled pints, took food orders and settled bills. The bar itself was being propped up by someone who unaccountably seemed to be reading an entire telephone directory instead of a Sunday paper.

One of the Smallways' strengths is its welcoming and efficient atmosphere. The Sunday lunch menu, with a choice of meats and sweets, is written on a board above the bar, staff are capable and pleasant and, no matter how busy he is, Tony Colwill has a smile and a bit of chat for everyone.

Then there is the clientele which, at least in the restaurant, seems to be mainly in the upper age bracket. Farmers and their wives meet their counterparts at tables for four or six, couples approaching middle age take their respective parents out for a Sunday treat, occasionally accompanied by their own children.

The atmosphere is one of gentle relaxation, broken on my visit only when someone's mobile phone - next to noisy children and upset babies the bane of this Sunday luncher's life - started trilling in the middle of a meal on the next group table. If the restaurant has a disadvantage it's a lack of space, especially when family parties arrive.

Views at the Smallways work in reverse compared with its cheek by jowl neighbour. The bar has the best all-round view of the surrounding countryside, but the most you can see from the restaurant is the Jockey's Cap, a row of truncated trees high above Richmond.

Having placed my order with the bow-tied proprietor, I was ushered to a corner table beside a dresser full of cut glass ornaments and within minutes was served my starter, a most acceptable bowl of tomato and basil soup with floating croutons.

This particular serving seemed altogether more balanced in its spicier elements than on a previous mouth-burning visit, when I drained my glass of water almost in one go in an attempt to extinguish the fire.

True to my conservative spirit, I chose beef as the main course for my first contribution to this new column on Sunday lunches. The dregs and crumbs of the starter were swiftly cleared away, to be replaced almost as quickly by a plate generously filled with meat and vegetables.

On this occasion the poor Yorkshire pudding had emerged looking decidedly deflated but this was a minor point. The slices of beef nestling under those vegetables had been cut a shade on the slim side but had come from a very good joint, lean and almost melting in the mouth to my taste, which does not take to fat.

They had judged the vegetables just right, the beef being almost obscured by a miniature mountain of well cooked green beans, peas, cauliflower in a cheese sauce and potatoes of both the boiled and roasted variety.

The Smallways is not the only pub to serve the main Sunday course all on one plate, and is none the worse for that. In most places side tureens of separate vegetables are delivered, but to me they are a pointless exercise and not necessarily synonymous with catering efficiency.

For dessert. I chose a tangy lemon lush, several times bigger than your average doorstop, followed this with coffee and a little square mint and sat back to reflect.

Travelling Sunday lunches, which have helped to prepare me for the week ahead for the past 14 years, can be made or broken as much by the people who serve them as by the food.

Tony and Susan Colwill, who have run the Smallways for nine years, have the food and they certainly have the staff to serve it. Waitresses were constantly on their feet, shuttling between bar and restaurant, yet I never got the feeling that they were overwhelmed, as I do in some places operating this two-tier system. Horse radish sauce and extra gravy for my main course were volunteered and delivered immediately, plates cleared with a smile.

A good, honest, traditional Sunday lunch for £7.40, unencumbered by needless frills, in a place where even a stranger's face seems to fit on entering the door