I’d avoided the Mohican camping in the car park and managed not to trip over a wayward oxygen tank, but getting served at the Lully was still a mission.
There were five big TV screens showing horse racing and I was able to watch an entire race and the start of a second before the barman finally got round to serving me, only to be told the Abbott Ale - hidden under a heap of plastic hops - was off.
In a last effort to avoid joining the regulars, who were all on lager, I asked about the other ale pump camouflaged in faux foliage and was informed the IPA was on.
When this was finally served it was a decidedly ropey, flat pint and I have no idea what it was, but it certainly didn’t taste like pale ale.
I started to mention it to the barman, who was rushed off his feet, but he was straight in with his stock reply: “It’s nothing to do with me mate, it’s the fault of management” and he demonstrated his point by waving in the direction of the office where two people were having an animated conversation in front of a bank of CCTV screens.
I decided to leave it there as a) nothing was going to change, and b) I was already feeling some sympathy for James as he was the only staff serving, bringing out meals, collecting the empties and mopping up.
Greene King’s Lullingstone Castle on Swanley High Street was busy and, as well as the smattering of workers who’d finished for the day, there were plenty of pensioners in for their evening meal. There were also a couple of kids having their tea, presumably before starting their homework.
I grabbed my nondescript pint and originally took a seat at a free table by the door to the gents in front of a radiator. However, the door was wedged open and the aroma wafting in my direction from the facilities was rank and this, combined with the fact the radiator was hotter than a volcano, persuaded me to move.
Shifting position resulted in another regular screaming at me not to tread on his phone, which he’d left plugged in on the floor to take advantage of the pub’s electric.
Finally settled I took in my surroundings. Apart from the five huge screens, all showing the gee-gees, there were several, even more monster-sized, dazzlingly bright fruit machines.
There was also a mass of surveillance everywhere you looked – even the CCTV cameras go around in pairs for safety here. In fact, on one corner of the bar there was a line of three cameras, all within inches of each other and all scanning separate areas of the pub.
Then, the Game Pro fruit machine proudly flashed up a huge message announcing it too is protected by CCTV. Honestly, everyone and everything is better protected here than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Ahead of another long wait at the bar for a refill, I visited the gents and was surprised to discover it wasn’t quite as smelly standing at the stained stainless steel urinal as it was just outside the door. But there were a few tiles off the wall and the mould in the place was growing so fast you could almost see it spreading before your eyes.
By the time I finally got served again I wasn’t risking another mystery pint so went for a San Miguel at £5.30 (ten years ago it would have cost £3.53) and it tasted okay. But what made the wait worse was spotting a certificate praising the pub for a 100% customer service award.
Then, just as James was really struggling, a woman in a big black coat appeared behind the bar, but rather than pulling her sleeves up and helping out she simply chatted to a few customers before disappearing upstairs.
The natives, like the barman, either didn’t have the time, or couldn’t be bothered, to share the time of day. Maybe I would have been better off with the owner of the Mohican camper van as that was still in the car park when I left.
A large message emblazoned above the bar read ‘Welcome to your local Lully’ but there certainly wasn’t much of a welcome for me.
It may be that some favoured locals are welcomed, but if you’re not part of this special group and, in all likelihood, wouldn’t wish to be, then you’ll be ignored and treated with dismissive contempt.
LULLINGSTONE CASTLE, 2 HIGH STREET, SWANLEY BR8 8BE
Decor: The bar itself was reasonably decorated with decent lighting and furniture in good order. The outside area was neat and tidy, but the gents’ toilet, with tiles off the walls and mould covering the ceiling, was a disgrace. **
Drink: The Greene King IPA was a poor excuse for a pint and I found it hard to believe it was really a pale ale. The San Miguel was okay. *
Price: The pale ale, which was really poor, was £4.45 and a pint of San Miguel the wrong side of a five at £5.30. **
Staff: Poor James did try but was so rushed off his feet he couldn’t be effective and everyone faced lengthy waits at the bar – maybe he was right about management! *
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