The Lake, West Kirby

Oct 27 2007 by Mike Chapple, Liverpool Daily Post

TO QUOTE an old pop star pervert: Hallo, hallo it’s good to be back, it’s good to be back.

But first thanks to Grantie, who more than comfortably minded the bar stool while Yours Truly popped out for an appointment under The Knife down at the Royal Liverpool.

Strange as it may seem given the amount of ale that has been quaffed in the name of research on your behalf over the past few years, the object of the surgery was not the transplant of a liver but something that was perhaps a little more delicate.

Without wanting to ruin your breakfast too much, imagine a ripe banana being peeled, tweaked, then expertly zipped up again may give an idea what transpired on the operating table. So a second big thank-you to Mr Vaswani and all the wonderful staff on Ward 9X for disproving the theory that the NHS is falling apart. It isn’t, OK?

The final thank-you goes to that most faithful of Pub Column guests Post Arts Editor Mr Phil “Wotcha cock”Key.

He himself has not been in the best of health recently, and having been told to knock his favourite Double Famous Grouse With Lots of Ice more or less on the ‘ead, mate.

But it’s not stopped him going to the pub where all human life can be found and great writers such as he can find inspiration.

His prescription to aid the Pub Column’s recovery was a pick-me-up trip to one of his locals, the intriguingly named The Lake, in West Kirby. Why it should be called this, nobody seems to know. Nevertheless, stuck in one of the quiet back water streets of this lovely understated Merseyside beauty spot there’s a tranquillity and sense of olde worlde pub mysticism about the place especially when it’s bathed in the full glow of the balmy autumn sunlight that coincided with our visit.

For a start, one of the regulars had trustingly parked his sturdy old push bike outside the entrance while he popped inside to share a pint or three with his chums clustered around the bar. There they were being posed such essential points of fact as “what is Postman Pat’s surname” by someone who had been sifting through his collection of great Merseyside Pub Quiz League questions.

Busy stoking the real coal fire in between serving this merry crew was the vivacious blonde landlady Leigh Mountford, from Moreton. A Lake barmaid for 13 years before taking the helm, she thinks it’s one of the brightest little boltholes on the Wirral. It’s secured an especially loyal following especially among after-work teatime drinkers when, she maintains, the place gets so full you can hardly move.

Protectors of the CAMRA flame will be disappointed to learn, however, that there are no cask ales to be had in a pub where the anti-Christ Carling reigns supreme. There are, though, plenty of other draught bitters and lagers on hand, The Lake’s creamy smooth Theakston’s Mild coming second in the popularity stakes among Leigh’s customers.

She tells all this after coming outside to join us on the pavement benches outside as we soaked up the gorgeous sunshine like contented cats, Mr Key smoking one of his tabs accompanied – shock horror – by a Schweppes fresh orange while Yours Truly supped a pint of ice cold Stella.

In such al fresco conditions, The Lake presents the perfect way of enjoying this, the best time of the British year. But you can imagine being equally at home tucked up inside here on a long cold dark winter’s afternoon with a fire roaring in the grate and a double Scotch warming the belly.

This was pondered afterwards, parking up on the front to munch on perfect portions of fish, chips and mushy peas before taking a squelchy trudge across the sands to Hilbre Island glimmering in the distance framed by a perfect blue sky.

Good company, a cracking pub, mushy peas and perfect weather – truly a cure for all ills.

Like I said, it’s good to be back.