You know how some dining experiences are so crappy they cross the line into farce? Well eating out last night at the strangely named Princes Marine Hotel, a hideous red cube on Hove seafront, was one of those times.

I should explain that this was an official function and that the table had been laid for 50 or so of us in ‘The Boardroom’. The strip lighting had been turned off so it was mildly gloomy, but there was still enough light to see the nasty stainless steel cutlery and the cheap paper napkins folded into a special decorative feature on everybody’s plate, and the ghastly chairs.

We’d been asked to select main courses in advance from the following menu:

1 Minted Lamb Shanks
2 Three Layer Lasagne
3 Sirloin Steak Diane
4 Duo of Smokes (sic) Salmon & Fillet of Salmon
5 Wild Mushroom & Goats (sic) Cheese Risotto Vegetarian option

I thought the fish was the least likely to be ruined, even if there was a surfeit of salmon, so went for that.

Starters were huge plates covered in whitebait, squid, prawns and that sort of thing, with others of sticky looking meats, and some tomatoes with things sticking out of them. Surprisingly, the starters were hot and rather good – not the veggies, obviously – but we were told: ‘You’ve gotta ’elp yerself,’ by the staggeringly ill-trained bunch of waiters.

When main course arrived the fish was fine, but it was presented by a waiter who said, ‘Oi. Who ordered this?’ waving it around under our noses, and striking me hard on the back of the head with the plate. The lady next to me – who’d plumped for lamb – said, ‘Oerugh!’ as a plate piled high with mashed potatoes surrounded by a moat of chocolate-brown gravy with a lump of lamb on top sprinkled with bright green mint was bunged down (I choose my words carefully) in front of her. The waiter approached the lady on my left with ‘Oi! Is this yours?’ It was – she assured me – risotto but her lip curled at the sight of it: a basin of grey sludge, with black leech- or slug-like things lurking in it. Examining one on her fork’s end she exclaimed ‘I think they’re shitake’. Well yes.

As people stared at their plates in disbelief, another waiter – who had a sort of campy uselessness in spades dropped an entire and huge serving dish between two of our number. The noise was terrifying and neither of the splurged victims smiled as he tried to sponge them down and clear up the mess apologising obsequiously.

Wine was next to undrinkable. ‘You ’ave to ’elp yerself!’ said another surly waiter.

I declined pudding and was chatting to the lady on my left when I felt a sharp jab under my arm caused by the poking index finger of the same idiotic waiter. ‘Oi,’ he remarked in his characteristic way, ‘Joo want coffee or what?’ I’m not making this up. By the end of the evening he had poked me three times.

Everyone was on their best behaviour and I wasn’t paying the bill but in other circumstances I would have refused to pay and simply left.

This is the worst service I have ever had anywhere.

REJECTED WITH KNOBS ON. Perry Stalsis 2007