Do you have a penchant for pies?, the Crown and Tuns website asks?

Is the Pope a Catholic? Are Simon Cowell’s trousers too high? Is Chris Moyles the most irritating man on earth?

Have the landlords Kathy and Anton Hayter met my husband in a former life, or did they just design their menu for Mr Greedys everywhere?

Yes, was the resounding answer as, panting at the doorway, I led him into the Deddington restaurant, packed as always on a Friday night, even though the Hayters never advertise.

You can’t book, so just turn up, hope for the best, and if all the tables are full, you join the regulars at the bar for a drink until one becomes available.

We were lucky.

Arriving relatively early, we bagged a cosy little number in the snug, and sat back to enjoy the ambience. And that’s one thing the Crown and Tun has got bags of, other than pies, because it’s so welcoming.

Mr Greedy had studied the enormous blackboard with the fanaticism of a third year student cramming for his finals, and after quizzing the waitress about the pubs’ most popular pies settled on one of the specials – game and madeira (£14) – while I went for the cheese, leek and rosemary (£10.50).

The home-made pies automatically come with chips or mash, veg and gravy.

The Crown and Dun doesn’t do starters, in fact the waitress sniggered when I asked.

They do dessert “if you can manage it” and when our pies arrived I suddenly understood where she was coming from, because the portions are enormous.

Our own individual crispy, browned, oozing pies whose crusts rose high over the oval dishes arrived, and we sat back in awe and paid homage to the pie God.

Half an hour later we sagged at the table, the dishes bare in front of us, unable to move, talk or even enjoy the delicious Rioja we’d chosen, which just trickled down the sides.

But by God it was worth it. We could have stopped when we were full, but the pies are so wonderful, the pastry so flaky and buttery, the contents so juicy and seasoned, that you can’t until you’re scraping the dish with the serving spoon.

How we managed desserts I’ll never know.

But Mr Greedy was on heat. He ordered the bread and butter pudding (£4.95) and demanded that I chose something to keep him company.

I tried the orange and almond chocolate torte (£4.95), and I could tell it was delicious, but it was akin to torture and I only managed a few mouthfuls which nearly dribbled out of my mouth I was so full.

His bread and butter pudding though was so moreish I found myself battling with him over its contents.

Afterwards we both realised the need to go and lie down in a dark room, on separate sofas.

So we called our cab and asked to be picked up early.

Our babysitter was terribly surprised to see us before 10pm.

“Why are you back so early?” she asked. “We ate all the pies.”