A piercing northerly wind whistled through the bare trees as I set out on my weekly excursion. Earlier in the day there had been sudden squalls of snow and any hopes that spring was around the corner were dashed.

At least the Surrey countryside looked stunning under icy blue skies as I set off on a little spin around Dorking, Ranmore, Effingham and Clandon.

Every so often, I glanced at the North Downs, dusted here and there with snow.

In the Ranmore Common car park, one or two hardy souls had parked up in readiness for a ramble, but I decided to leave that idea for another day.

Soon I had passed Dunley Hill Farm and reminisced to myself about the Cartlodge Tearooms which, lamentably, closed more than 10 years ago. I used to enjoy whiling away a Saturday afternoon with friends at this wonderful establishment, tucking into mouth-watering fruit cakes and pouring endless cups of tea.

Further along the road were more farms, paddocks, woods and flint and brick farm buildings before the route took me down through a forest towards a more residential area of Effingham. It was here, in the 1990s, I recalled, that a large detached house was destroyed by a bolt of lightning and had to be completely rebuilt.

Soon I had joined the main road to Guildford and decided to pull into Hatchlands Park and warm up with a coffee and cake in the 18th century National Trust mansion's tearoom. Alas, the gate was closed and I quickly gleaned that the house was closed for the winter.

I manoeuvred around in the driveway and continued on, quickly deciding to call in at Clandon Park, a few miles south.

Having parked up, I strolled towards the pay kiosk and put my head around the door and spoke to a lady with a clipboard.

"I'm afraid the house is not open. I'm not sure about the cafe. Well, I am, actually. It's closed. But I'm not really anything to do with it," she said.

She smiled awkwardly and carried on with her business, accompanied by two men.

I then observed a notice that the house and cafe were closed until March 14.

By now I was feeling distinctly hungry, as I drove through pretty villages and headed for The Talbot Inn, on the old Portsmouth Road in the historic village of Ripley.

I had read that it had been placed in the Surrey Life magazine's top 15 places in the county for a "winter pub lunch", so decided to try it out.

And sure enough, a warm welcome awaited and yes, food was being served, even though now it had gone half-past three in the afternoon.

I stooped as I entered the old bar in the 17th century inn and was greeted by one of a team of cosmopolitan staff.

He cheerfully handed me a menu and I took a comfy seat next to a table at which was sitting two mature ladies "doing lunch".

The menu contained a long list of "upmarket" starters, main dishes, "lighter options" and sandwiches.

The latter included crayfish with rocket and tomato (£6.95); steak and onion marmalade (£7.40); and English cheddar with Hogs Back ale and pear chutney (£4.75).

My mouth watered as I perused the main dish list. The options included sweetcorn fritters with chargrilled aubergines and homemade pesto (£9.95); butternut squash risotto with parmesan crisp (£9.95); and Conisbee's pork and leek sausages with herb mash and balsamic onion dressing (£11.50).

But suddenly my choice was made: beer-battered haddock with rustic chips, crushed peas and homemade tartare sauce (£11.50).

As I waited a few minutes for the meal, I gazed out of the windows of this old building at the ancient high street. Some of the places like the former White Horse Inn dated back to the 15th century and many were listed.

In more recent times, rock guitarist Eric Clapton lived here as a child.

The Talbot Inn has for centuries played its part in history and is said to have provided the stage for Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton's love affair to blossom in 1798.

Suddenly I was brought back to the present when the young barman brought the fish and chips and a hot chocolate.

The hot food was just what was needed on a perishingly cold day. Each time the latched, timber door opened, a cold draught stole in but happily, upon the door's closure, the warmth quickly returned and it was snug again.

The two ladies, wearing chunky jumpers, were deep in conversation as they sipped coffee.

"Is she still with her man?" one asked her companion.

"Oh yes!" came the reply.

Nearby, on a low beam was written the warning: "duck or grouse!"

My eyes wandered to the sweets menu and I couldn't resist ordering a raspberry and white chocolate tart with clotted cream for afters.

It arrived, and was remarkably well presented, as if an artist had laid it out on the plate.

The ladies' conversation turned to others they both knew.

"What's going on in their lives? Clearly not a lot . . ."

I wrapped up well, tied a knot in my scarf and headed home, admiring the colours of the sky at dusk as the wintry sun set.

Mark Davison