THE words seemed to leap from my television screen and smack me across the face.

I couldn’t quite believe what our bumbling blond leader was saying.

“Avoid pubs.”

Mr Johnson uttered the phrase as his head dropped to the floor, knowing the weight of his words.

I turned to a slack-jawed Mrs PubSpy.

“Shut the pubs? This must be pretty serious then,” she said.

I nodded in solemn agreement.

With my ever-increasing years weighing heavily on my mind, I figured I would do what I could to follow the Government’s advice and stay inside where possible.

But that did leave me with one major obstacle to overcome.

As you know, each week I try to bring you, the reader, an honest review of a new drinking hole in Brighton and Hove – something that was made rather difficult by this nationwide pub ban.

After much deliberation, I decided I could not let my isolated state stand in the way of delivering this public service.

There was one place I had not yet put under the microscope – my own home.

I arrived at the venue after a long day of work, keen for an evening tipple to while away the evening.

Tucked away in the city centre, it had a comfortable, cottage-like feel to it which immediately made me feel at ease.

Inside, a record player blared out Paul Simon’s Graceland and a thick wooden bookcase in one corner was filled with several crime novels and a mix of pub quizzes and party games.

However, a pair of poorly looked after plants were dotted about the front room, their once green and vibrant leaves now brown-tipped and drooping depressingly downwards.

The landlady, Mrs PubSpy, greeted me with alarming familiarity at the entrance and then proceeded to insist I hung my coat and jacket in the cupboard – rather than dump the clothes on a nearby sofa as I had initially attempted to do.

With the establishment’s absence of a bar and, as a result, bar staff, I made a bee-line for the cupboard to see what brews awaited me.

But I must say I was bitterly disappointed with the very limited array of drinks on offer.

Though I am county-renowned for my penchant for pint-drinking, I take great joy in exploring new sites to find my favourite pubs.

As a result, my drinks collection is rather underwhelming.

Half a bottle of Shiraz with a shiny golden eagle emblazoned upon the side – a better sign than a kangaroo, but still not promising – was my first option.

Next up came the clear winner, a bottle of Sharp’s Doombar.

The Cornish amber ale is a long-standing favourite of mine and earned a deserving nod and grunt of approval.

Just behind that, there was a tub of Aero hot chocolate which Mrs PubSpy had a particular fondness for – she says you can “taste the bubbles” whatever that may mean.

I lined the three drinks up on top of a line of sugar, tea and coffee pots in an attempt to recreate some semblance of a bar.

It didn’t work, and ended up looking more like a beverage-based devolution of man.

With pub-withdrawal symptoms kicking in, I grabbed the Doombar and a pint glass with a shaky hand and began to decant.

The pint was poorly poured, the process was rushed and several droplets splattered across the surface after bouncing off the top of the tipple.

But, as ever, the drink itself was delightful.

Smooth, warming and subtly bitter, much like myself – that and my time in the extremities of the South West may be why I feel such an affinity for the ale.

I settled down on one of two identical grey sofas to enjoy my pint.

While I appreciated the cushioning of a sofa above a harsh wooden bar stool, it must be said that the seats were not very forgiving. Though they were aesthetically pleasing, I did find myself suffering from a terribly numb bum as I drained the final dregs from my drink.

Having to wash up my own glass and not just leave it in, or beside, the sink was another negative mark against the venue. My bladder full of beer, I trudged up the building’s carpeted staircase and headed for the toilet.

The services were remarkably clean, but part of me could not help but miss the usual scrawl of graffiti adorning the walls. I briefly considered scribbling a quick “PubSpy was here on the back of the door and jotting down my phone number below in a territorial showing of dominance, but quickly thought better of it.

The site did have one major saving grace however. After finishing my business, I was only a few feet away from my bed.

Our House

The middle of our street

Brighton

Decor

Four stars

Cosy, but staff need greener thumbs

Food and drink

One star

Severely limited choice

Price

Five stars

The landlord said this one was on the house

Atmosphere

Two stars

The place was almost empty, but those there were cheery enough

Staff

One star

Non-existent