THERE are only 190 people in the tranquil horse-racing village of Whitsbury. Half of those are reputedly tee-totalling Methodists, so, on the surface, you wouldn't choose to run a pub here.

Yet Laura and Patrick Lewis bought the pretty red-brick building, with its trademark coloured lights strung across the outside, some four and a half years ago - and they haven't looked back. After all, your customers don't just have be local.

There's humble folk like me, who motor or cycle along the rolling countryside lanes from Fordingbridge, dodging the pheasants, hares and deer. Or former prime ministers like Ted Heath, who is chauffeur-driven here from time to time from his abode in the shadow of glorious Salisbury Cathedral.

Then there's the discerning walking fraternity from Southampton and Winchester, keen to refresh after hiking the nearby downs.

Should there be a win at the nearby stables of famous horse trainer David Elsworth, the bar is packed.

We all home in on The Cartwheel - a freehouse dating back to the turn of the last century - because it's quintessentially English. See, there are no frills here.

OK, so there's a pool table in a cramped room, along with a dart board, and the music (more retronik than dancenik) comes from a modest stereo, but that's about it.

This is a place to talk and savour the real ales, which are kept in top-notch condition with an almost religious fevour and supplied by small breweries.

The highlight of the pub's year is the beer festival, running from Friday, August 9, to the Sunday.

Check out at least 17 beers, including Batemans XXXB, Exmoor Gold, Spitfire and Hop Back Summer Lightning.

Children are not forgotten either, since the publicans have two young daughters themselves, with play equipment in the pretty rear garden.

For me, the pub comes into its own in the depths of winter. Jenny, my wife, and I sit by the blazing log fire, happily enveloped by the cosiness of this pub - a brief respite from the turbulence of the world outside.