ONCE when I was in Daly's, a man asked me if I was pregnant. At the time, I was devastated; I was not, although I had been overdoing the Guinness.

However, two years later, now the tears have subsided, I can see that his question was not so much pertinently stupid as refreshingly honest. Actually, I think he was looking for an excuse to celebrate.

But Daly's isn't the kind of pub you'd choose to go to celebrate, although it's helpful to have an excuse to go there.

Our excuse for this Wednesday visit was snow. And, as much as the pub reminds me of an over large mini-bar set up in somebody's front room, I really couldn't fault it that night.

Daly's is like an old and much abused friend. You don't keep in touch much and you often slag him off behind his back how he reeks of stale booze and cigarettes and keeps questionable company but, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, Daly's is reliable.

He was there for me when an inch of snow caused chaos on Watford's streets. My colleagues and I abandoned the nightmare of Watford Business Park for the warmth of the pub, cheap alcohol (a pint of Guinness at £1.60) and ... do you need another reason?

The only thing missing was food. It's a shame the management don't branch out a bit; there are so few places to eat round there and yet so many workers in need of sustenance.

However, the kindly bar lady took pity on us and let us bring in our own food from a nearby Chinese takeaway and as for that greasy fare, I think I'll hold my tongue for a different kind of review.

Daly's, as I said, can always be relied upon as an escape from the cold but I was surprised to find myself having a good time.

We sat at a table, watching the traffic edge by and feeling snug, smug and in good spirits, which is more than can be said for those trapped in their cars outside.

The pub was jam-packed with like-minded people and, at that moment in time, Daly's felt like Watford's best-kept secret.

Yes, after years of trying to ignore his existence, I'm feeling much more affectionate about the old fella. It's not so much that he's a reformed character but, perhaps, that I'm mellowing with age.

Friends again we may be but I have no intention of becoming bosom buddies; you can have too much of a good thing.

JD