DECOR ** (uninspiring) DRINK *** (standard choice. Avoid the cheap wines) PRICE **** (great value) ATMOSPHERE ** (lukewarm) STAFF **** (warm and friendly) FOOD ** (carvery lovers rejoice. Everyone else avoid)

AS MY beloved and fabulously rich grandmother lay on her deathbed, clutching the will I had kindly amended to name me sole heir of her fortune, she whispered something in my ear.

“Never trust a Toby,” she hissed incoherently, right after she cursed me to burn in hell and drew her last breath.

On second thoughts, being a staunch Labour voter, she might have meant to say Tory, but those words were still ringing in my head when I paid a visit to the Toby Carvery pub in Bromley Common.

With his rosy cheeks, smug moon face and gentle smile, I instantly despised the elderly gentleman on the sign outside The Crown.

It’s not because I hate happy people, although I do fantasise about smothering the cast of Glee with Care Bear pillows while they sleep and dream of butchering another classic rock anthem.

It is simply because anybody who looks so contented is usually hiding a dark, sinister secret.

While this colossal family pub doesn’t quite live up to my late granny’s fears, neither does it excite or thrill.

For those lucky people who have never experienced the joys of carvery dining, it is essentially a buffet-style meal.

Hungry hippos can gorge themselves like foie gras geese on mountains of roast meats, vegetables and artery-clogging roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, which have been sitting for hours on a hot plate.

Call me crazy, call me radical, but for some reason I prefer not to have to queue for my dinner like an old lady in a retirement home.

I want young, attractive waiting staff to serve me with an insincere smile and I want to feel like I’ve made a minimum of effort to eat apart from lifting the fresh, piping hot food to my mean, incomparably despicable, little mouth.

At £5.25 per person you can’t beat the price and the food was at least edible and, dare I say it, tasty.

But like the roast beef, the atmosphere was lukewarm at best.

With its uninspiring decor it has a bland, soulless feel to it — something I have come to expect from most chain pubs.

The low wooden beams and inoffensive colour scheme of deep reds and browns gives the interior a slightly gloomy appearance, but there are plenty of picnic tables outside if you want to escape on a pleasant day.

After discarding my small glass of sickly, acidic Pinot Grigio (£2.60) for a pint of Stella Artois (£3.10) I pondered my grandmother’s dying words one last time.

Toby’s promise of a filling meal wasn’t quite a lie, but neither did The Crown leave me with that warm, fuzzy feeling I usually get when I’ve sincerely enjoyed a carefree drink with some pub grub.

In truth, the only beating heart in this boozer is not its banal identikit design, but the genuinely friendly staff and congenial company.