DECOR **** (cosy and nautical) DRINK ** (bog standard choice and cheap tasting wine) PRICE ** (pricey) ATMOSPHERE *** (loses one star for punters’ casual homophobia) STAFF *** (no complaints — warm and friendly)

WALKING to The Pier Hotel in Greenhithe High Street from the train station is a bit like travelling back in time.

After arriving at what appears to be a futuristic apocalypse of concrete highways and dusty construction sites, the rows of newly-built red brick developments give way to an idyllic village from a bygone era when doors were left unlocked and children were safe to play outside without supervision.

The area is steeped in maritime history and the riverside pub proudly embraces its past as the haunt of drunken sailors and oil-stained ship workers.

While it has all the mod-cons of a 21st century boozer (widescreen TV, jukebox etc.), with its low ceilings, wood panelling, fire place and nautical paraphernalia, its ship shape atmosphere is sure to warm your cockles as the winter nights draw in.

As I sat sipping on my pint of ice cold Stella Artois (a whopping £3.50), I thought I could almost hear the offensive, bigoted banter of a few inebriated ghosts from the past.

Just as I was about to reach for the phone and call Yvette Fielding and the Most Haunted team, I realised the flesh and blood protagonists were actually standing by the bar, a mere three feet away from me.

I wriggled uncomfortably in my seat as the punters launched into a homophobic rant about the gay Olympics, cracking tasteless jokes at the athletes’ expense and patting themselves on the back for being born straight.

It probably never crossed their minds the games exist precisely because of the archaic prejudices of sods like them.

Just as racists seem to think its acceptable to deride ethnic minorities to your face simply because you’re white as well, homophobes tend to assume all men drinking pints and not wearing stilettos and a cocktail dress agree with them.

Ironically, the conversation which preceded this one was a discussion about the musical genius of famous gay icons Abba, whose greatest hits were playing in all their camp glory at the time.

Of course, there’s no law against bigots in pubs just yet but it nevertheless marred my enjoyment of this otherwise perfectly pleasant boozer.

After the pretty, beaming barmaid poured me a glass of cheap, acidic-tasting Pinot Grigio (£3.40), I was tempted to escape to the beer garden.

Unfortunately, the bum numbing metal seats and tables contrasted sharply with the interior’s cosy comforts and the view of the Dartford Crossing and cargo boats chugging down the river is, frankly, an eyesore.

Slap bang in the centre of middle-class suburbia, The Pier Hotel is clearly a popular spot for families in the area looking for a trouble-free evening.

The pub certainly ticks all the boxes in terms of its child friendly credentials, but as the Swedish pop quartet once sang, thank you for the music, but kindly leave your prejudices at the door.