'You don't mind if we put you on the end here, do you?' asked a slightly presumptuous waitress guiding me to an already occupied table.

It seems my solo lunch at Cowdray Park café in West Sussex was about to become a communal experience as I joined a group looking outraged at the prospect of sharing their condiments.

You see, why worry about customer preference when you can avoid clearing other tables? And the apathy continued with delays and mistakes including a steak main course missing its chips - all soundtracked by a child's noisy iPad.

Welcome to the soul-crushing reality of British hospitality where meagre portions, poor value and service can leave you feeling more fleeced than sated, with a very bitter aftertaste.

Multimillionaire celebrity chefs serving up £175-a-head pub roasts like to remind us of a sector on its knees thanks to food inflation, energy costs and rising VAT.

And yes, times are tough with three hospitality venues closing daily in the first quarter this year according to figures from market intelligence firm, NIQ.

Yet the sob stories can still wear a little thin when so many establishments treat those that frequent them with woeful complacency.

It plays out where I live in West Sussex in the South Downs. This rural idyll has become a mecca for the deep-pocketed, second homeowners down from London saturated with dog-friendly coffee shops and posh pubs.

It perhaps explains how I found myself ignored and menu-less the other week trying to catch the attention of the café owner as she lavished attention on a nonplussed dachshund.

When my Turkish eggs brunch finally arrived, the dish was a pale imitation of the one I had eaten there a fortnight previously. The two poached eggs had been replaced with one fried egg and I was missing the feta cheese despite being charged more for the privilege.

Ok, so the sector has always lived or died by the very smallest margins but we're talking about cheap store cupboard ingredients and the kind of petty penny-pinching that insults customer intelligence.

Unfortunately, the meanness is endemic. Struggling to find a light bite under £20 at an elegant hotel in the same town, I ordered soup that arrived in a teeny ramekin only for the waiter to 'check with the chef' when I asked if there was a bread roll.

Five spoonfuls and the soup was gone by the time the bread roll - which was the size of a small dough ball - came.

'The soup doesn't usually come with anything else, but we won't charge you extra on this occasion,' informed the waiter gravely.

I thought we were in the midst of a cost-of-living crisis, not war rationing.

And what about pubs - so often lauded as the cohesive glue that binds a community together, but with increasingly prohibitive prices, they are now playing to a very select crowd.

Take the White Horse near Chichester where steak options span £42 to a £95 Chateaubriand, an offer that includes one sauce and one side - yes, if you want both vegetables and chips it will be extra…

And there's my own local, The Swan Inn, in Fittleworth, usually with an Aston Martin outside, where a woman once asked for her mozzarella and salami focaccia to be 'deconstructed'.

Even in these kinds of places with premium prices and pretensions, the service can often fall short - from having to fetch your own cutlery and condiments to staff who would rather be elsewhere.

The sector may be at the mercy of geopolitical tensions, but it does have some control over recruitment and training.

So, what about ensuring staff force a smile and a bit of small talk as customers settle their three-figure lunch bills now complete with an obligatory 10 per cent service charge? It's not asking the world.

The Halfway Bridge near Petworth is a case in point - adding a 12 per cent service charge on top of already inflated prices.

The last and final time I lunched here I was treated to distant running commentary from the bar team debating whose turn it was to check if my meal was ok. 

The girl who drew the short straw came over and asked me mechanically before reporting back to the others.

Later on, I listened as a newbie got a tutorial on coffee making - yes, nice to know the making of my £4 flat white doubled up as a training exercise (and yes, the warm frothy milkshake was sent back).

Add to the mix the places that have no qualms about making it clear when you've outstayed your welcome.

I've lost count of the occasions recently when intrusive and protracted clear-up operations – chair stacking and floor sweeping - has started long before closing time – from those with an eye on an early finish unconcerned it's spoiling people's enjoyment.

Not to mention a recent evening at a pub where I was told I couldn't order a dessert (at 8pm) because the kitchen had now closed – a detail that no one had thought to share beforehand.

Fortunately, the situation isn't entirely bleak. A pub called the Squire and Horse in the village of Bury, West Sussex, is a welcome antidote - a reminder that great food and value is still possible. 

Here, with no automatic service charge, attentive staff and a perfect roast that doesn't require a second mortgage, their efforts are rewarded with packed premises through the week.

It's proof that even in straitened times, that elusive formula that respects the customer and doesn't compromise on value can be found. Sadly, though, it's just too rare.