Cheek by jowl with Stroud Farmers’ Market sits the town’s latest restaurant, which is founded on food and friendship

I’m going to tell you about my dad: I hope he won’t mind.

As I sit with him in A&E, various thoughts fill my mind. Of how, when he was very little during the war, he was evacuated from Manchester to the wilds of Scotland, just over the border. Because of a popular song at the time, he was convinced his new home was in Mexico. In fact, he’d been sent to a young couple who were out all day; he was – when possible - watched over by a grandfather-figure, who worked nights. One dark evening, scared and alone, my dad accidentally knocked over an oil lamp. Instead of setting the place ablaze, which by rights it should have done, it miraculously petered out. My dad, however, was sent packing.

His next port of call was with cousin Isabel and her brothers, where they topped and tailed a bed. Dad and Isabel peeked out as the doctor came to deliver another baby in the already-squeezed household. My dad – slightly older and wiser than Isabel – was able to explain, “The doctor’s brought the baby in his bag”.

He should, by rights, have been disturbed by his peripatetic upbringing; but, like so many of his generation, it seemed merely to add to his compassion. And so, looking back on my own childhood, I see a patchwork of quirky memories:

• Dad, in a queue, standing next to a burly chap with long hair, politely explaining to the cashier, “This young lady needs serving before me.”

• Dad hurling his glasses apparently indiscriminately into a group of people in a shop. “I thought they were on a chain round my neck,” he later explained.

• My mum finding him listening to his music with his headphones on so as not to disturb her. A plan that would have worked had he but plugged them in.

And so, as the doctors battle with his emergency admittance, he entertains them with his stories. “When my dad got to the hospital after I was born, the nurse said to him, ‘Good news, Mr Wilson – twins!’ He said, ‘I didn’t want one, never mind two!’” he chuckles. Then, as they’re putting in a drip, dad says to them, “I feel a fraud. There must be other people who need your help more.”

Part of me feels proud. The other part wants to whack him over the head with a cricket bat.

I think of these things as Ian and I head out to Dinner at Six, Stroud’s newest restaurant. There’s such a good story behind this place, which is based as much around friendship as a love of food. The pally team behind it – Wesley Birch, Richard Dunlop and Kylie Hughes – have come together after working in some of the area’s great kitchens (and beyond): William’s Fish Market and Foodhall and Calcot Manor, as well as the poshest of places overseas. Nor is it an accident that they’re cheek by jowl (braised ox cheek being a house speciality, BTW) with Stroud Farmers’ Market, because they source locally (though I’d love them to tell us exactly where from on the menu).

And it is a great menu, with mains from £13-£17, and which morphs daily. We get to choose from such rare and tasty offerings as roasted marrow soup with toasted pumpkin seeds; goats’ cheese (the waitress, who’s lovely, doesn’t know where it’s from, though; surely an oversight?) salad with cherry tomatoes and sesame brittle. And there’s hake fillet with spinach mousse and crayfish broth; the famed braised ox cheek; and a good old steak frites with Béarnaise sauce among the mains. For once, I pick far more wisely than Ian. My Welsh rarebit soufflé, with candied walnuts and apple matchsticks, is a sensation – smooth with a walnut bite; gorgeous. While Ian’s scallops mousseline with cucumber and stem ginger is a bit on the bland side.

His roast rump of lamb with squash purée, rosti and wild mushrooms is OK, but a little tough, disappointingly. Whereas I relish my sweet potato wrapped in filo with a perfect, perfect spiced cream.

Puds are fine – citrus tart with raspberry coulis (could have been a bit tarter for me); but Ian’s glazed white chocolate rice pudding really was the business.

Interestingly, it’s a bland weekday evening in Stroud, yet the place is pretty packed with an eclectic assortment of people. Well, good for Dinner at Six. Our meal is thoroughly enjoyable, but I see even better things to come. It’s exactly the sort of place I’ll enjoy taking my dad, once he’s better.

Lovely chap, my dad.

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Dinner at Six is at 6 Union Street, Stroud GL5 2HE, 01453 758477; www.dinneratsix.co.uk