DECOR **** (country charm) DRINK **** (several ales and wines) PRICE ** (over-priced) ATMOSPHERE **** (cosy and relaxed) STAFF ***** (attentive service with a smile) FOOD **** (delicious)

MIDDLE-AGED city slickers are always bemoaning the stress, dirt and general hardships they are forced to endure living in the big smoke.

Desperate to escape the squalor of London, they dream of moving to the country, buying a converted farm house and living life as if in a Jane Austen novel.

But far from flitting the days away prancing through meadows, getting drenched on hilltops and falling in love with Mr Darcy from the neighbouring manor, the reality will make your blood curdle.

The countryside is a cruel and unforgiving place, with muddy fields peppered with ankle deep cow pats, the stench of manure stinging the nostrils and the helpless cries of kittens being drowned by callous farmers ringing in the air.

It’s no surprise, therefore, that so many happy homemakers choose to pile into their gas guzzling four-by-fours and move to the town of Chislehurst, which has enough fields surrounding it to make you feel like a country bumpkin but in reality is nothing more than a leafy suburb of London.

No rural backwater would be complete without a cosy pub and The Rambler’s Rest fits the bill.

Tucked away at the foot of a grassy knoll, the boozer has a traditional, old fashioned charm.

With its low, beamed ceilings, hand-painted plates mounted on the walls and various other curios decorating the two main rooms inside, it’s bursting with as much character as the jovial and attentive landlady who poured me a pint of Young’s Bitter (£3.10) to enjoy with my cottage pie (£5.95).

Taking advantage of what could be the last of the summer sun, I took my smooth and refreshing drink to the pub’s beer garden.

Wedged between two residential houses, it’s not exactly secluded and keeping the noise down must seem like a pointless endeavour after a third round of drinks.

My meal arrived just as I polished off my bitter, so I returned to the bar to order a large glass of Soave to freshen my palette.

But after I had my first glass replaced with another with less unappetising bits floating at the bottom, I almost bit into the glass in horror at the £4.95 price tag.

Chislehurst may be the haunt of Z-list celebrities and ex Big Brother housemates, but for that price, I would expect a sparkler and a camp cocktail umbrella plopped inappropriately into my glass to add a touch of glamour to an otherwise ordinary white wine.

At least my piping hot pie’s cheesy mashed potato topping happily melted in my mouth while the perfectly al dente vegetables thankfully didn’t.

The beef filling was a little runny and without some accompanying bread to soak up the delicious sauce, I was left with the dilemma of whether to continue fruitlessly trying to scoop the remainders up with my fork or to ask for a straw.

The Rambler’s Rest may be a little over-priced, but if you want to live in a house, a very big house in the country, it’s the price you pay for your pseudo-rustic lifestyle.