Wellington restaurant is nothing fancy but the sheer humanity of the people who run it are what sets it apart

At least it is when you’re on the car park.

Because on the outskirts of Wellington, on a unprepossessing slice of tarmacadam, there’s a restaurant that looks a little bit like a bungalow with a bunch of fairy lights or plastic vines – I was paying attention to the road, rather than the fittings – draped outside.

It was slightly underwhelming. Not much to write home about. Unlikely to win an award for being the prettiest restaurant in the prettiest town. You know the drill. A shrug of the shoulders. That.

And yet. When I called an hour ahead to book a table, the guy on the other end of the phone couldn’t have been more polite.

And when I stepped across the workaday threshold, the same guy was thoroughly welcoming, thoroughly polite. Extending a welcoming arm, he offered seats and tables, either amid the hustle and bustle of early evening diners, or in a quiet corner, alone with my thoughts.

I opted for the latter, though it was alone with a smartphone and the day’s sports’ results, rather than plain old billy-no-mates.

And that’s where the staff showed themselves to be deliciously human and more than a little kind. They’d sensibly decided to heat one side of the dining room – the one where all the others were sitting.

And, with costs for energy spiralling ever higher, they’d left the other half at ambient temperature… Until I sat down. At which point, another member of the team came over to turn the radiator up to full. She returned a few minutes, then again, to make sure that I was warm like toast.