That’s roughly the amount of beer Kent landlord Graham Stiles has pulled since he first stepped behind a bar. He’s worked it out. He was already an experienced publican when he moved to the seaside town of Deal, where he’s now spent 42 years in charge of The Kings Head. You know the one: flower boxes in the windows, cricket memorabilia on the walls, fairground lettering on the sign outside. The kind of place where there’s always an excuse for another round. It’s a Deal institution, and so is Graham.
“It was a rough town when I first started,” he tells me. “Lots of miners and marines. If you were stupid enough to mention Maggie Thatcher, you’d be in trouble. Funnily enough, the coal seam actually goes right under the pub.” Graham gestures towards the seafront, where hot June sunshine is pounding down on the Channel. “It’s a different place now,” he adds. As if to illustrate his point, four women wander out of the bar wheeling golf trollies.
Deal has carved a fresh name for itself, just like many towns on the Kent coastline have — Margate and Whitstable, for instance, have become magnets for food- and art-lovers over recent decades. When I turn onto the high street, a headphone-wearing skateboarder curves past me walking a Boston terrier. The street is half a mile long and as straight as a stick of rock. Indie bookshops and artisan butchers glimmer among the chain stores; the swell of a choir rehearsal emanates from the Astor Community Theatre. I end up at The Rose, a little wood-panelled hotel and restaurant with vintage crockery on the
