Years ago, in my impressionable youth, I may just have visited the odd dodgy daytime club with lack-lustre beer and over-enthusiastic dancers who spent too long on the bar jigging about over your pint.

Fortunately my flashbacks of such visits are as hazy as the low level lighting they favoured and the old oil-filled smoke machines they used.

But, walking up to the matt black painted entrance of The Gamecock in West Kingsdown all these memories were dragged back with a vengeance. And, the strong smell of bleach rushing into my nostrils as I walked through the door only reinforced thoughts of those ‘heady’ days.

A mirror ball hanging just inches from a chandelier added to the picture from yesteryear but it was when the landlady, with her arm in a splint, marched into the bar screaming: “For f**** sake, what the hell’s going on?” that I was truly transported back 30 years.

The bar itself was unattended for a while as the only barmaid on duty had been instructed to take the bins out while a second barmaid hadn’t turned up for her shift.

Everything about the place was more than a little blue, the carpet, the pool table, the surround to the dartboard, the shellfish van outside, not to mention the general mood and the language.

By now the bins were dispatched so I was able to order a pint of Courage Best and slip onto a stool at the bar.

I was paying with cash, which was probably as well, because the first sign I saw, sitting proudly by the till, read ‘No tabs are to be given without Bob’s permission’.

I don’t know who Bob is but he may be the boss because she with the ruptured ligament reckoned he was still upstairs in his coffin and there was zero chance of getting any help out of him.

At this point one punter, having taken a quick call, grabbed his little lad by the hand and shot off to pick up his dad – but not before putting his half-finished pint of lager behind the bar for later.

I picked up my pint, which I should say was fruity and malty enough with a modicum of taste and not too bad for £4.10, and followed them out through the door to grab a little fresh air.

This other doorway to the pub was equally black and unwelcoming and I noticed there was a sign with a section of gold writing blacked out, which used to read ‘Quality food served daily’ – whether they no longer serve food or it’s no longer quality wasn’t made clear.

Back inside the mood wasn’t lifted by the jukebox playing Bright Eyes or the missing barmaid turning up with a horror story about a road trip to Barking. Barmaid #1, who’d busied herself stocking up until now, took this as her opportunity to escape through the black door and cloud of bleach.

Through the side door on the left you will find the smoking shed and, at the back, a fairly wild looking ‘family’ garden with a number of lopsided picnic tables and a sign saying dogs are welcome but only if they’re kept under control.

As well as the pool table, dartboard and jukebox there is an old world fruit machine, several TV screens for the sport and a number of nice old fashioned touches – beer towels on the bar and beer mats on each table.

Having already started late, Barmaid #2 decided she needed to take a lengthy toilet break so I decided to cut my losses and, following a quick visit to the gents, headed down the road.

The gents, by the way, was a bit dark and dingy with no light on but the floor had been mopped recently and they smelt okay.

There must have been some paint left over from another job at some point because the plumbing had been treated to a coat of gold.

Sadly, as I left and took stock, I realised my experience of visiting The Gamecock had definitely taken a toll. Prior to walking in on a sunny afternoon I’d been upbeat, almost buoyant, at the thought of an early pint in a pub I hadn’t visited previously but my mood had now dipped considerably, to the point I’d say it more matched the colour of the majority of the pub.

THE GAMECOCK, LONDON ROAD, WEST KINGSDOWN, SEVENOAKS TN15 6EL

Decor: Blue in the extreme, the furniture and furnishings were in much better condition than the outside of the pub would lead you to believe. The bleak, black entrance desperately needs to be brightened up. *

Drink: I went for a pint of 4% Courage Best, which wasn’t too bad, but given the only other option was a 4.1% London Pride it’s not saying too much. Anyone else in the pub was sticking to Fosters or Stella. **

Price: The Courage Best was £4.10 but if you went the lager route a pint of Stella would set you back £4.70. ***

Staff: The landlady couldn’t help being incapacitated, but boy she knew how to moan about it. Barmaid #1 was fine when she was allowed to serve, rather than put out the bins, but I didn’t see Barmaid #2 do anything productive. *

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