On a rather bland Manx Sunday that threatened drizzle but delivered charm instead, I found myself heading north, properly north.

I made the journey to to the Grosvenor Public House in Andreas.

The northernmost pub in the island is not just a place to eat or drink; it feels like a destination. A day out, even.

And in an age where pubs are too often shuttered or sanitised into something unrecognisable, the Grosvenor remains gloriously, stubbornly… a proper pub.

Step inside and you’re greeted not by minimalist décor or carefully curated ‘pub vibes’, but by walls you can barely see for signs, memorabilia, and the quiet hum of lived-in history.

One sign in particular caught my eye on the pub side: ‘People of Andreas – use it or lose it!’

It made me smile, but it also landed with a bit of weight.

Drinking habits have changed, food has become king, and rural pubs rely more than ever on the communities around them.

Standing there, pint in hand, I could only hope the locals are still answering that call – because places like this are worth holding on to.

I hadn’t booked, which on a busy Sunday is always a gamble. The Grosvenor, unsurprisingly, was rammed with diners.

But this is where good pubs quietly shine. Despite being extremely busy, the staff were unflappable, friendly and determined to make it work.

Before long, myself and my friend Patrick were seated, menus in hand, and already feeling like we’d made the right choice.

And what a menu.

Plenty of choice without tipping into overkill, comforting, pubby classics done properly.

I’d heard good things about the pie of the day, so I went for the steak and ale. Patrick opted for the lasagne.

When the plates arrived, they arrived properly. Big portions. No nonsense.

And the taste? Wow. The pie was outstanding – rich, tender steak swimming in a deep ale gravy, topped with a puff pastry lid that was golden, crisp, and frankly one of the best I’ve had.

I’m told the chef has been here a long time, and it shows. This is someone who knows their kitchen, knows their pub, and knows their customers.

Patrick’s lasagne didn’t last long either – always a good sign.

Both dishes arrived quickly, especially impressive given how busy the place was, and neither felt rushed or thrown together.

There’s something deeply comforting about sitting in a proper pub on a Sunday afternoon.

Different generations, different conversations, all sharing the same space.

Naturally, we did our bit to disturb the peace, striking up conversations with those around us.

Talk turned, as it so often does in places like this, to the pub itself and its history. If the walls could talk, indeed.

A lovely couple behind us had ordered the mixed grill. I didn’t need to taste it to know: that’s my order next time. It looked sensational.

The Grosvenor isn’t chasing trends. It doesn’t need to. It’s doing what it does very, very well. And long may it continue.