THE idea that anybody can be what they want to be can also be applied to pubs.

Rarely more so than at this 1894 hostelry, the Village.

The building’s roadside exterior has such classy potential, you can sense how its construction would have been inspired by Joseph Chamberlain’s magnificent Highbury Hall, built in nearby Yew Tree Road in 1878.

Inside, though, the Village offers mixed messages.

The upholstery is not just worn – it’s almost threadbare.

And the dull lighting scheme wouldn’t fill Chilean miners with confidence.

Yet in manager Chris Gittens, the pub has a bright, young enthusiast trying his best.

Rarely do you see anyone putting in a shift behind the bar and working the floor, too.

He could not have been more helpful or apologetic when his payment machine twice rejected my debit card.

After checking how we were doing, he even replaced my wife’s meal by cooking her next dish of sea bass himself.

Collette had fancied fish and chips. But when she cut into the stone-age batter, the fish inside was so grey she felt like she was doing a Silent Witness autopsy.