Everything about The Seafield screams out “proper pub”.

There is absolutely no nonsense about this Hove drinking hole, it even has the obligatory sullen barman.

Not that he isn’t helpful, or even interesting, it’s just that over the years his bearded face has fixed itself into its current shape and refuses to change.

I immediately warmed to “Robbo”, as he’s known to his regulars, and found him fascinating.

At first I felt indecisive at the bar so allowed him to select my poison.

After a little bit of chat and mild chiding from the silver-haired fox at the bar, I was passed a pint of Longmans Best Bitter – a fruity, malty, generally very pleasant, hoppy tasting pint with a smooth finish.

The fox informed me that I shared a problem with his good lady, Linda – she wasn’t able to make up her mind either.

Mind you, when Linda finished her fag and returned to her slot alongside him at the bar, he changed his tune faster than a greased weasel.

With a pint in hand I looked around at my surroundings.

A pooch in the corner looked like a King Charles Spaniel to my untrained eye.

From his lack of movement and the fixed stare I have to assume he belongs to Robbo, who by now was munching his way through a mound of chocolate, fruit and nut I think, with one eye on the TV showing Grand Designs.

The volume was turned down and we were treated to sounds from Smooth Radio pumping out from another screen.

There is no dartboard and no pool table, but there is a jukebox and a fruit machine.

Spotting French doors to the garden I popped outside to take a gander.

It can’t be that good as the smokers opt for the pavement out front rather than the back yard.

It seemed a pity to me as it’s really not that bad and even offers another route into the pub as the back gate, which was open, leads directly to a back passage.

Back indoors the conversation had turned to religion, and specifically the various qualities of Jerusalem.

This is clearly a traditional boozer – so much so it still proudly displays a picture of Wills and Kate’s wedding.

I ordered another pint, Kronenbourg this time, although the £4.20 price matched the bitter.

Following this I headed for the facilities, which are interesting in themselves.

A condom machine offering Silks Variety and a Blue Pill to save embarrassing moments looks absolutely ancient, though a film poster advertising the movie Disclosure on the back of the door looks even older.

Mind you, the notice on the door of the ladies was stranger again. It read: “Any men found in the ladies toilet will be asked to leave.”

I decided not to risk it.

This is about as traditional a pub as you could imagine.

On the bar I spotted today’s copy of The Argus, a Help for Heroes collecting bottle and stacks of limes and lemons, though what they’re used for I haven’t a clue.

While at the bar I sat on a stool with a high-vis jacket slung across it.

No one came near it the whole time I was in so perhaps it was left by a previous visitor – at least I had no problem locating my chair.

All in all I would recommend The Seafield for a visit. If tradition is your thing then look no further.

The trio of locals perched at one end of bar were obviously in for the duration as they moved even less than Robbo, who only really shifted himself to serve or reach for chocolate.


Decor: ★★ (out of five)

Cosy like an old front room, but smells very smoky

Drink: ★★★★

Not masses of choice but well-kept beer

Price: ★★

Seems to be £4.20, whatever you order

Atmosphere: ★★★

A real boozer with real people

Staff: ★★★★

Miserable as sin but strangely likeable