‘I’m sure someone famous lived here,” Mr Greedy said peering out of the car window as we drove through Aston Tirrold. “Isn’t it a famous author? Roald Dahl, perhaps?”

I had no idea, and even less interest. My stomach was rumbling so loudly by this time it drowned out all further conversation as we negotiated the country lanes around Didcot on our quest to find the Sweet Olive pub.

The most recent addition to Oxfordshire’s impressive line-up in The Good Food Guide 2013, the Sweet Olive has long been on the gastronomy trail. Actually following that trail, however, proved a challenge. “Sorry we’re late, it was further than we thought,” I apologised, when we’d finally parked up and crept in the back door. The challenging trail clearly hadn’t deterred anyone else because the place was rammed. Luckily we’d reserved a table, and ordered bread before a drink, which is extremely rare in our household.

Once we’d relaxed and had a good look around, we were delighted to find ourselves in this unpretentious, friendly, obviously French-influenced village pub where the locals were as great in number as the diners and equally welcome.

So we were surprised when the Gallic front-of-house Stephane Brun apologised for the noise levels, because noisy is good. Noisy distracted us from our end-of-week lethargy and jollied us up a bit, drawing us into the place. Noisy meant customers and appreciation and fun. What’s the alternative? Staring at each other in silence and listening to the scrape of cutlery?

The menus were chalked up on the blackboards, and the specials that Stephane reeled off were numerous and seasonal. A large delivery of fresh fish and shellfish had arrived from Cornwall, meaning lobster, razor clams, mussels, crab and sea bass dominated the menu. We were happy.

But on this early autumnal evening what else could we choose from chef patron Olivier Bouet’s kitchen than a classic French onion soup? Mr Greedy opted for the crab chowder which he made hasty work of, smacking his lips in approval like Asterix himself. I even looked under the table to see if he was wearing the Gaul’s blue and white stripy trousers. What next, wild boar? No, the much more English partridge. (Apparently the partridge season occurs before the pheasant for hunting reasons, partridges getting massacred first. How very English: ‘After you, no after you.’). This came with game chips, creamy wild mushrooms, gravy and vegetables, and it was superb. I had the tagliatelle which came in a rich, creamy, wild mushroom and spinach sauce, one of those dishes that separates the men from the boys and warmed my cockles right through. It was so tasty I wanted to lick my bowl clean. Comfort food at its best.

By then we had thawed, my week’s workload a distant memory, our conversation reaching a similarly animated level as everyone else’s, and dessert was a must. Mr Greedy managed to find room for the lemon cheesecake, raspberry coulis and passion fruit sorbet, while I idled away with a delicious cup of sea salt caramel ice cream. Job done.

Incidentally, for those of you with a mind like a Venus fly trap and a desire to be on University Challenge, the answer is Tim Henman. He resides in Aston Tirrold, I am reliably informed, and having been to his village pub I now consider him a very lucky man.