Don’t ask me where Lower Brailes is. I couldn’t tell you. It’s got an Oxfordshire postcode, anyway. And by the time Mr Greedy and I had argued long and hard about who was driving, then trying to decipher where in the middle-of-nowhere it was, it was too exhausting to quantify.

But having a notoriously terrible sense of direction – I get lost in Sainsbury’s – Mr Greedy eventually accepted defeat, turned on his sat-nav and off we went.

But if you ever need reminding of why we live in Oxfordshire or how overwhelmingly beautiful and quintessential it is, go to The George, because unless you live next door, you pass through some ridiculously pretty villages on the way, complete with honey-coloured Cotswold stone cottages, village greens and all the trappings of a bygone era when a good pub, petrol station, shop and post office were all we needed to get by.

Of course, the petrol station, shop and post office are now sadly missing from most, but the institution of the pub is something we are still clinging on to for dear life.

And so we navigated our way through Deddington, Bloxham, Barford St Michael, Tadmarton, Swalciffe and Sibford Gower, all following on from one another like a glorious tour guide of chocolate box images that Americans would gladly pay a fortune for.

And so we arrived at The George, where the pub is now alive and kicking again, along with a resounding community to go with it. The bar was refreshingly bursting with locals, the garden full of dressed-up mums on a night out, and rather smug-looking couples chatting over a glass or two – no doubt delighted to have left the kids at home.

The reason The George is so busy is less to do with the community spirit, however, and more to do with the new chef and team which arrived there in November. Pulling off the dust-sheets, and bringing former unused rooms back to life, Bill Leadbetter and his wife Charmaine, right, have breathed new life into what had become a rather dilapidated and tatty hostelry.

Fans of the Masons Arms in Swerford will know Bill’s cuisine, as he was largely responsible for transforming that pub into the massive success story it is today. Having parted company, he wanted to be his own boss and so came across The George after months of searching.

Not that it was an obvious success waiting to happen. The dining room where we ate, complete with wooden beams and olde worlde charm, had been boarded up. But Bill and Charmaine saw past the dust, realised The George’s potential, and what they have managed in just a few months is astonishing and a real inspiration to anyone else wanting to redress the gloomy pub trade forecast.

And with a big beer garden to boot, Bill has covered all his bases. It’s not quite there yet. The front exterior is a bit shabby and the courtyard could do with a lick of paint, but the menu, Bill’s forte, more than makes up for it.

Let’s hope the food matched up to expectations. There’s a ‘two courses for £12 lunch menu’ and at dinner that increases to £16. Simpler meals like home-made burgers or beer-battered Brixham haddock is an even more impressive £7, but as Bill says “I’d rather sell 50 of those than five sirloins at £20.”

Speaking of which, we did try the delicious Exmoor rare breed rib-eye steak, chips, portabello mushrooms and salad, (£16), which came with a wonderful bearnaise sauce on request. The accompanying veg was rather unneccessary, but the steak was enormous and even Mr Greedy struggled and then lay awake all night digesting the damn thing, but you can’t have your steak and eat it.

We also ate our first asparagus of the season, straight from local Wykham Park Farm, complete with a lemon butter sauce and a fried egg for starter, which was chargrilled and quite, quite scrumptious.

The stilton and brocolli tart from the specials board (£12) came with coleslaw, grilled artichokes and sauteed potatoes, and was lovely but rather oily for me, however delicious the individual parts of the dish.

A shared pudding of profiteroles with a coffee creme anglaise (£5) completed the meal perfectly. Accompanied by some delicious coffee, we sank into a happy oblivion.

And just as I began to relax into the sublime setting, Mr Greedy piped up: “So who’s going to drive home then?”

Sledgehammer anyone?