Half storeroom, half crèche with the baby put to sleep on a bench at the side of the pub. And don’t even get me started on the appallingly loud foul-mouthed bird in the corner.

But does any of this matter if the locals just muck in at the Four Horseshoes in Graveney and love the pub just the way it is?

The bloke at the bar was telling anyone who’d listen his other half was off to see Elvis for her Christmas do. Forget for a moment The King died in 1977, this was the end of April so who’s planning December 25? He went on to say there was another funeral he needed to attend and he’d have to go on his motorbike.

I tried to block out all this madness, the care in the community feel to the place and its similarity to a caravan park clubhouse to concentrate on selecting a drink.

I chose to swerve lager or cider and, as there wasn’t any bitter on draught, it was really a choice between a couple of IPAs, a Hobgoblin or an Eagle. I opted for the former.

It was served in a wonderfully chunky glass which slotted right into your hand and, although it proved slightly lively coming out of the tap, was a very pleasant, darker IPA.

I found a seat just beyond the play shop, but before the table where Dolly was sleeping soundly under her blanket – fortunately the stage was unoccupied, the piano lid closed and the jukebox switched off so it was fairly quiet in the party area. Or it was until the Elvis and low percentage lager fan at the bar began loudly declaring his undying love for Fridays.

It was only after several unbridled ‘Thank God it’s Friday’ exclamations I felt it necessary to point out he’d peaked early as today was Thursday.

The noisy bird in the corner had already told me she’d see me later a couple of times before, much to the locals’ amusement, she turned the air blue and advised me to **** off.

To be fair there were signs warning you to steer clear of Ruby and she certainly made her presence felt when she indulged in a few sessions of prolonged squawking. As time went on I noticed she became particularly vocal each time a local left and, more often than not, would then exclaim ‘what you doing?’.

The sign on top of her cage read: “Please do not put your fingers in my cage, as I might bite you – thanks Ruby x”.

Talk at the bar shifted to bin day and exactly what could, and couldn’t, be placed in the recycling bin. Glancing around I reckoned an awful lot of stuff in here needed to go so thought it best if I didn’t get involved in the discussion and took a look around instead.

Judging by the posters, the Four Horseshoe’s prides itself on hosting events – Rayoke’s Karaoke is a regular booking and even the man himself popped in to grab a bite during my visit.

Mamma Mia, the Abbagirls will be here on June 2, but it’s August 19 you need to put in your diary, whether that’s to attend Ladies Night or to avoid it like the plague. For just £20 a ticket drag Comedienne Miss Dot Com will be marshalling, and I quote, ‘four hunky male strippers’ – Dolly might not get much sleep that night.

I had to pop to the gents and although it was clean and fresh there were a few disappointments – first, the hot tap didn’t work, and second, the cold tap only dribbled. There was also a notice about not flushing wet wipes but none were provided, so unless people are bringing their own I’m not sure why the warning is needed.

Chat around the bar was now about the view from the back of the pub where the landlady reckoned all she’d been able to see for weeks was a caravan and a digger.

I’m not sure what construction work has been taking place but the fact she can see a caravan is hardly surprising as the pub is surrounded by a ‘retirement community’ of mobile homes, so much so it almost feels to have been engulfed by the Four Horseshoes Park.

However, when I looked out the back the digger was almost hidden so I presume some recent fencing work has taken place, maybe to coincide with all the car park work going on at the left hand side of the pub.

Just before I departed, regulars, builder Frank and his better half popped in for a drink and a lengthy debate began about Frank’s inability to hang a set of Jan’s curtains.

Viewed in slightly rose-tinted glasses you’d say the locals are salt of the earth folk who are perfectly happy in a clubroom-like pub surrounded by a mobile home site for people of more mature years.

On the other hand, a more eagle-eyed visitor could view a motley collection of regulars with low expectations who are prepared to sit among the detritus and battle their wits with a feathered friend called Ruby.

FOUR HORSESHOES, HEAD HILL ROAD, GRAVENEY, FAVERSHAM ME13 9DE

Decor: It all looks a bit chaotic and disorganised but everyone just gets on with it and lives among the clutter, including Ruby the parrot and Dolly. There is an element of work in progress though and I think the bar has been relined with trendy-looking timber. **

Drink: The battle of bitter versus IPA continues but the latter is winning – there were two IPAs available on draught and the darker Hobgoblin was definitely better than the slightly creamier Eagle, which had a mild woody taste to it. ***

Price: Both were under a fiver, but only just. The Hobgoblin IPA was £4.90 a pint and the Eagle IPA slightly cheaper at £4.70. ***

Staff: My first pint was pulled by the barmaid who struggled a little with the gas, the landlady didn’t suffer from the same problem and they were both down-to-earth and approachable. ***

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