Fighting my way past the numerous smokers in the doorway and in through the beautiful stained glass door, I found myself in a brightly lit bar with a row of regulars seated on bar stools.

The Druids Head on Herne Bay High Street is a fairly typical town centre pub with a large traditional bar – there is more attractive stained glass running around the top.

There are three large TV screens and by the time the 8.10 at Newmarket got under way (the racing was showing on all three) the vast majority of punters were already very ‘tired and emotional’. So tired and emotional that several were having trouble speaking.

There’d obviously been a fracas and one fellow was upset enough to make an early exit – he did this by backing his mobility chariot towards the door and narrowly missed running me over.

Unperturbed I cast my eye down the Shepherd Neame staples and decided to match my drink to my surroundings so selected a pint of Hurlimann. I slipped my bank card back into my pocket as it’s strictly cash only and I got 40p back from my fiver.

The pint was pulled swiftly but it took at least 10 minutes to sort out the till, although to be fair the cheery enough barmaid did invite me to take a seat and delivered my change later.

*Note to Ed* - All attempts to obtain a receipt proved fruitless, apparently you can only get a receipt if you pay by card, which of course, isn’t allowed!

The lager was decent enough and served cold, though I’m sure it’s been mightily toned down from the Hurlimann I remember so fondly from my youth.

Football flags stapled to, and completely covering, the ceiling add to the tribal feeling and it’s definitely a boozer where everyone knows everyone else.

Whatever commotion had taken place had clearly left everyone a little on edge with several peacemakers feeling the need to still be issuing the standard Liverpudlian’ ‘calm down, calm down’ message.

Fortunately things had quietened by the time the horses were assembled for the 8.25 at York and the pool table was back in use by the first furlong marker.

Simple Minds' Belfast Child came on the jukebox and I was reminded, firstly, how long it had been since I heard it and, secondly, what a decent tune it is. The rest of the selections really don’t deserve mention although Wedding of the Year by JD and the Longfellows should be outed as the worst possible tosh.

Although the dartboard wasn’t in use, there was a shelf-full of trophies high above the bar suggesting arrows is a popular pastime here and, apart from the moments when things kicked off a little, the pool table was in constant use.

The other constant is the stream of smokers making their way about six inches through the front door before sparking up. There wasn’t a single moment when there wasn’t someone having a fag on the threshold.

I think it was this constant exodus to the front door which led me to believe there was no outside space but closer inspection did reveal a back, fairly recently renovated, courtyard with a lengthy fish pond and some equally lengthy goldfish, probably better described as carp.

Mrs SD says I’m not too good at judging size but I reckon one was at least 18inches long.

A little after 8.30 one regular in a tweed jacket and a pair of polished shoes came in for a solitary pint of Master Brew. He immediately, albeit briefly, added a touch class but at the same time looked completely out of place.

Also, and I assure you I say this with no agenda whatsoever, out of the 18 people in the pub only three did not have visible tattoos – I’m not adverse to the idea of body inking but decided not to question the other three about any possible hidden artwork.

One thing that was made very clear is the fact no children are allowed in the pub after 6pm and although things didn’t flare up too badly there was more than enough F’ing and Jeff’ing and argy bargy to suggest this is a sensible measure.

The jukebox was cranked up considerably by the liveliest woman in the bar who then began dancing manically to Sam Fender before deciding someone had somehow monstrously offended her honour so she made an early, and noisy, exit.

Having witnessed this I decided it could become a long night so, bidding a few of the less oiled folk a good evening, I made my own way into the night.

Druids Head, 182 High Street, Herne Bay CT6 5AP

Decor: I reckon most of the place has had a fairly recent lick of paint, but it’s only surface deep. Some of the furnishings probably got freshened up at the same time but flashing fairy lights are always going to lose at least one star. **

Drink: The smartly dressed gent did go for a Masterbrew but he was the only person I saw sampling the bitter all evening. The vast majority were choosing one of the several standard lagers available. **

Price: A pint of Hurlimann was £4.60 and, inexplicably, a Kronenbourg is more expensive at £4.90. They’re not bank busting prices but they’re equally not particularly cheap for Herne Bay High Street. **

Staff: They struggled with the till, but rather than leaving me waiting too long the barmaid did deliver my change to me. They were efficient and effective behind the bar but concentrated on the regulars as you might expect. ***

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