‘Oh dear, what could the matter be? One of our company locked in the lavatory. He was trapped mid-evening on Saturday. Nobody knew he was there.” My adaptation of the traditional folk ballad describes in accurate detail what befell pal Drew during our visit to the King’s Head & Bell pub in Abingdon at the weekend. Quite an adventure!

He had gone to the loo shortly after the four of us arrived there. Well, once we were settled in at least. It was a good five minutes before we managed to find a table in an out-of-the-way corner of the packed pub. Drew’s absence passed unnoticed as we got stuck into our drinks. Arty Farty golden ale from the Wiltshire-based Plain Ales Brewery was the popular choice. But an unbroached pint among the rapidly emptying glasses reminded us that someone was missing.

Peering between the heads of customers thronging the bar, I saw Drew engaged in earnest conversation with a member of the serving staff. What this concerned only became apparent once he rejoined us. He was explaning why he’d had to kick open the lock on one of the pub’s lavatory doors.

Having made use of one of the two cubicles in the men’s loos, he discovered when he came to leave that the lock had engaged in such a way as to defy any attempt to open it. This applied even to someone as powerful in the finger department as Drew, who is studying to become a concert pianist at the Guildhall School of Music.

“There wasn’t anybody else in the loos at the time for me to shout to for help,” he told us over the next pints of Arty Farty, “and there was no signal on my mobile.

“But even if I had been able to get someone, there wasn’t much that could be done. There was no gap above or below the door through which a screwdriver or something similar could be pushed.”

Eventually — realising that brute force was the only solution — he stood on the lavatory bowl on one leg and pressed backwards on the lock with the full strength of the other, causing it to burst open.

By now Drew was conscious, like us, of the comic side to the episode. It had certainly introduced an element of the unusual into an evening planned to supply precisely that.

We had travelled to Abingdon as part of an ongoing programme of socialising away from Oxford. Woodstock, Wallingford, Thame and Witney — see my restaurant review today — are among places easily accessible from the city by bus. Visiting these attractive little towns for an evening has something of the pleasure of a mini-holiday. Others should try it.

The Oxford Bus Company’s hourly number 4 service from Oxford (return fare £4.20) delivered us to Abingdon in 40 minutes. We chose this in preference to the faster, more frequent X3 because we could board it in Botley Road, close to home.

Our first port of call in the town, yards from the bus stop, was the excellent Brewery Tap pub, family run for nearly 20 years and a mecca for real ale fans. Contrarily, I went for wine here, a fragrant blend of gewürztraminer and riesling grapes. My companions variously tried the Salopian Brewery’s Shropshire Gold, Timothy Taylor’s Landlord Bitter and the White Horse Brewery’s War Horse, a malty and dark seasonal beer.

Moving on in search of food, we decided to check out the Old Anchor, facing on to the Thames at St Helen’s Wharf. I drank here in the days when its tiny front bar doubled as a shop. Long since remodelled, its interior now has a very different appearance. This was to go uninspected tonight, however, since the sight (and sound) of the Blue Beatles performing live suggested here was no place for a quiet dinner.

Neither was the recently reopened Nag’s Head on the bridge over the Thames, whose restaurant had been taken over for a private party. Thus we came to the King’s Head & Bell, and that loo door.

This is another pub whose future once looked uncertain. It stood closed for nearly two years before new owners Foundation Inns spent half a million pounds to create the success it is today. Food plays no small part in this. Though Rosemarie’s steak and kidney pie was a tad dry and Drew’s double ‘King Burger’ was OK rather than outstanding, my brimming bowl of slow-braised lamb with beans and root vegetables, accompanied by chunky rustic bread, represented robust pub food at its best. So, too, did Paul’s enormous fillet of fresh, pearly white haddock in a Hooky beer batter, which with the chips and mushy peas might have served well for all four of us.

Still the night was not over. After sussing out Bath Street’s Blue Boar (far too noisy) and Black Swan (a little too quiet), we settled for a final drink back at a packed-to-the-gunnels Brewery Tap. Only now, with so many people struggling to be heard above the juke box, did I realise how much more pleasant the place would be without the pounding music. But this was just me being an old arty farty, I guess.