The Crooked Kettle has stood on the edge of the green for longer than anyone can say, and it has the sagging beams to prove it. The ceiling is low enough that taller visitors learn to duck the hard way, and the stone floor dips and rises like the countryside outside. A huge inglenook fireplace takes up most of one wall, a fire crackling in it whatever the season, with a sleepy dog sprawled in front of it.

Worn wooden settles and stools are crowded around scarred tables, most of which have a regular who would very much like you to know it is theirs. Behind the bar, a row of dented copper kettles hangs from the beams, and the low front door leads back out onto the Village Green.