Animal magic | 30 August 2018

Roy Hattersley once wrote a plangent passage about a painful aspect of the human condition: the short span of animals’ lives. The owner who commits his affections condemns himself to the pain of bereavement. This thought has come to my mind recently.

Roxy Beaujolais, that glorious ale-wife, has already been celebrated in this column. Her public house, the Seven Stars, is just behind the Law Courts and has almost acquired the status of a fifth Inn. I popped in the other day and found to my delight that it was as good as ever. Cured herring followed by rare cold roast beef: Roxy would be horrified if you described the Stars as a gastropub, but it could easily pass muster as one. As ever, she pulls an excellent pint, concentrating on Adnams and Harvey’s, superbly hoppy beers which are a vital means of rehydration during the rigours of an English summer.