Looking traditional from the street, the entrance to the Flying Dutchman was via a side door and, once through the porch, with the gents off left, we were greeted by wafts of meat and gravy from the carvery.

This hefty Island pub on Queenborough High Street is designed to look like a ship below decks and the bar contained one family group, a couple on high stools, a solitary drinker, a caged parrot and a gang of underage whirling dervishes.

Holding pool cues like spears, the kids threw plastic toys at each other and tore around the table like a race track.

Undeterred the Apprentice and I armed ourselves with a Guinness and a pint of Timothy Taylor Boltmaker and made our way to one of the tables without bright blue drinks and discarded chocolate wrappers.

When the pool table race was finished and the cues slung back across the baize a couple of likely lads, one sporting the all-over, head-to-toe, pub-going grey, stepped up for a frame.

By now I’d had a couple of mouthfuls of the Boltmaker and certainly enough to know it wasn’t quite right. The barman, to his credit, was swift to accept it had a sour taste and instantly offered to change it for a pint of Meantime IPA, without any suggestion I should pay the extra £1.50.

The Apprentice’s Guinness was good and there was no sign of the Flying Dutchman running as dry on the black stuff as several other places elsewhere in Kent seem to be – shortage, what shortage?

This is a down-to-earth establishment and there was plenty of effing and jeffing, a good deal of it emanating from behind the bar, but it was all good-natured abuse and absolutely fine.

What was perhaps less desirable was the barmaid, with a quiet moment to spare, using the time to comb her hair – at one point there was a brush-off with two of them competing to create the most lustrous manes behind the bar.

The carvery was still serving a few meals but to be fair by now it was fairly late on Sunday afternoon and I’m sure it was much busier earlier in the day. A waitress, who didn’t seem to be at all cheery, informed me through gritted teeth that the carvery was open until 6pm.

They do say the happiest staff in a pub are the busiest and, apart from the marauding kids, it had quietened down a lot, so it wasn’t surprising when she told her colleague “I’m just wandering around”.

As well as the pool table there is also a fruit machine and a jukebox in the pub but I saw no sign of a dartboard or any TV screens, though there are enough nautical knick-knacks on display to sink a ship and believe me this a deceptively big pub.

The carvery is right at the back on the right-hand side and there are plenty of large areas set out with a sea of tables to accommodate those wishing to dine. And, although the early January weather wasn’t conducive, there is also a large outdoor seating area running right down the left-hand side of the pub.

Having witnessed the sugar-fuelled behaviour in the bar I couldn’t help but be reminded of the message I’d seen scrawled on a blackboard at the entrance when we walked in – ‘Please don’t let your children damage our garden furniture or plants’, all of a sudden this plea from management made a lot more sense.

Despite this, an iffy pint (which can happen almost anywhere) and a waitress already in the running for the ‘Most miserable of 2025 award’ there were undoubted plus points, the barman was professional and attentive, there were plenty of seats available and there was a council sticker in the window saying this pub has earned its green credentials.

However, as a first visit for 2025 it was overall a little disappointing, not least because, after calling in for a swift pint at another hostelry, not a stone’s through away from this one, we received an incredibly warm welcome at a lively, buzzing pub full of friendly folk.

Then, having thoroughly enjoyed our flying visit to the second pub, the Old House at Home, we were walking back and, along West Street, spied the lights from what looks like a brilliant micro-pub. Unfortunately, we were too late to try the Admiral’s Arms on this occasion but it’s in my notebook for another day.

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN, 19 HIGH STREET, QUEENBOROUGH, SHEPPEY ME11 5AA

Décor: This is a massive pub that stretches much further back than you’d think after viewing it from the front. It’s not over fussy and we were both impressed by the nautical theme in the front bar. ***

Drink: There were a couple of ales on draught and it’s unfortunate I chose the Timothy Taylor Boltmaker instead of Mad Cat’s session pale ale Pop Wow. There were several other IPAs, Meantime and Hopical Storm, as well as Guinness and the usual lagers. ***

Price: The Meantime is probably well named as it’s not cheap at £6 but £4.80 for a pint of Guinness isn’t bad at all and the Timothy Taylor Boltmaker was £4.50. ****

Staff: A game of two halves – the barmaid needed to put the hairbrush down and the waitress needs to crack a smile, but the barman was doing his level best to make up for them. **

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