BEER rarely tastes better than when it has been well-earned, and there’s no surer way of earning it than with a long walk on a hot day.

Trust me on that one, if you will, for it is the voice of recent experience. My face was red and my legs weary as I finished a rambling trek near Helmsley, but it was my parched thirst that demanded instant redress – and that first beer was as satisfying a reward as it could wish for.

Plan A had been to find refreshment en route, at The Hare Inn at Scawton, which purportedly dates back to the 13th century and so sounded worth visiting. But poor timing on my part meant it was closed when I arrived and so, with my non-alcoholic supplies having also run dry, I pressed on to Helmsley instead.

I rolled into town bang on 5pm, with the church bells ringing and the sun glinting off the castle, but I had another destination in mind and wasn’t to be diverted.

Stepping up the pace for the final few yards, I tumbled into The Royal Oak in the south-west corner of Market Place, one of many drinking options in the quaint square but notable as the best example of a classic, English pub.

I wanted something cold and I wanted it now, so I went for a Peroni. Truth be told, I’d have probably drunk petrol if offered it with ice, but Peroni was on and it hit the spot perfectly. As it invariably does.

It’s an odd favourite for me, an ale drinker first and foremost, but then I suspect many people have drinks that they choose for reasons other than simple taste, be it nostalgia, image or whatever. It’s Peroni for me, for various reasons: basically because I’m a big fan of Italy and its culture; because I thought it displayed good taste when I was a student; and above all because it reminds me of a particularly great night drinking it in a Pompeii youth hostel seven years ago.

Personal bias aside, it’s an enjoyable if unsensational lager, markedly better than most British offerings. It’s never going to blow anyone’s socks off but if you enjoy lager and haven’t tried it, I’d certainly suggest doing so.

As it happened, instinct kicked in as my dehydration eased, and I soon moved on to ale with a half of Ringwood’s Fortyniner – a copper-coloured bitter with a malty, caramel taste (£1.55, 4.9 per cent ABV). It was pleasant, as Ringwood beers always are, but less suited to the heat, so I ended up switching back to Peroni.

And as I supped on that and tucked into some ham, egg and chips, I took in the Royal Oak itself: a 17th-century coaching inn, now owned by Marston’s and run by Craig and Rachel Newton, all of whom seem to be doing a good job of things.

It’s a fine building with a large central bar, a pool table in one corner, a few TVs, a good range of food and drinks, accommodation upstairs, and a real air of proper Yorkshire conviviality.

On top of that, there’s a little sun-trap garden out the back. I was tempted, but had had enough of the sun for one day, my pasty Scottish complexion meaning that I struggle when the thermometer hits double figures. So I stayed on my bar-stool, enjoying the surroundings, chatting to the friendly staff, and pondering long and hard whether to stay the night. In the end, I opted against it and got the bus back to York, but not before resting my legs and savouring the beer. Which, as I say, had rarely tasted better.

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