MY wife away, I was delighted to have an invitation from my daughter, an established resident of Tavistock, to come down for the weekend and enjoy the delights of Devon.

The weekend started with the skirl of the pipes, for Friday evening was a Burns Supper at Whitchurch Village Hall. After 13 years in Ayrshire I have a close connection with, and affection for the Burns-associated properties at Alloway, Tarbolton and Kirkoswald, and hence the man himself. For a few wonderful hours the spirit of Rabbie Burns was close to us all as the well- ordered process of a fully traditional Burns Supper unfolded, with increasing hilarity and enjoyment as we danced and reeled the night away.

All the speakers were good but for sheer professionalism my prize had to go to the be-kilted lady who responded to the Toast to the Lassies with a witty, superbly delivered take on 'a man's a man for a' that'.

The following morning I walked with friends for three miles through mature woods within sight and sound of the River Tamar.

The dogs were in heaven, the natural scenery was stunning, and very recently acquired pounds seemed to roll away. Talk was of possible parking changes in Tavistock, our next port of call. I quickly recalled with trepidation those wonderful shops, many happily bereft of multiple connections and other disadvantages and therefore full of character and individuality.

Shops in Tavistock seem invariably to be manned by individuals who treat you as friends, offer help and advice and are actually pleased to see you.

The compelling thirsts we had acquired during our post breakfast walk were guided with difficulty past the aromatic pasty shop, to Browns where pints of Tribute with some of their marvellously moist bread, vinegar and oil went straight to the spot.

I worried about Browns when it first opened, but it has become what it now is, a comfortable, friendly pub with rooms and excellent food and more than a discrete touch of style. The greatest compliment I can give them is that anybody with a good local elsewhere would feel instantly at home in Browns.

We shopped with steady determination, last port of call The Gun Room, where exactly the same jolly welcome we had met elsewhere prevailed, before going home to limber up for an evening visit to India-in-Tavistock. Yes, it was Saturday, but Ganges was heaving not just with good company but with quality food originating from the great sub-continent.

As I drove up to the A30 on my way home to Shropshire, the moors were covered with fresh snow and I felt the sort of refreshment that comes from a much longer holiday than just a quick weekend. On a relatively simple weekend in Devon I had tasted the nectar of life.

I hear rumours of parking meters stacked in warehouses, and out of town multiples. Forgive me as an outsider, but think carefully, my friends. There is rarely any way back once you have travelled down that route and prosperity and quality of life do not always rest on convenience and growth.

Meanwhile, my grateful thanks to all those who helped, sometimes unwittingly, to make it a weekend I shall long remember.

Michael Tebbutt