Henry VIII (A Man for All Seasons)

Boleyn Tavern (Upton Park)

*3pm in an emptyish Boleyn Tavern and an imposing bearded and bejewelled man marches to the bar.*

“OI OI!! Anyone serving? Cam on luv, carpe diem, I’m dyin here!”

*Henry VIII, King of England and France, Lord of Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Supreme Head of the Church of England and long-term West Ham season ticket holder, settles into a bar seat and emits a deafening fart*

“WALLOP!!! AH-HAA-HA-HA-HA” *his best Sid James laugh*

“How are you treacle?”

*barmaid saunters over *

“Hello! Aye aye! We’ve not seen you in here for a while ‘enry luv. What a surprise? Knighting someone local? Opening the new Lidl?”

“Get away you slaaag. *chortles* Nah, I’m filming somink ain’t I?”

“Oh I see… I thought you looked well turned out… all you finest Tomfoolery on… what is it,.. another big HBO production?”

“Nah….fuck that… it’s “Britain’s Hardest Tudors” with Danny Dyer…

*Barmaid pulls sour face *

"Yea, I know, but it pays the bills don’t it? I need to make a pound note now and then same as you treacle”

“True, true… I see… so what’ll it be ‘enry?” 

*Let’s kick off with something Spanish luv. San Miguel I fancy”

*barmaid pours a San Miguel*

“So,...that Danny Dyer… he’s a bit of a tit isn’t he?”

“Well…. yea… but still, we’re both ‘ammers so we get on well enough”

“I didn’t know you were an Iron ‘enry luv?”

”BEE-AAVE! Been an ‘ammer all my life, fuck me luv, as part of the second marriage festivities I changed the name of the bleedin stadium” (thinks… yea good bit of largesse that Hen… LARGE).

“I knew ‘em all in my younger days didn’t I? Mooro, Peters, Geoffurst, Frankie Lamps snr, Brooking, Phil Parks… ipso facto wewontheworldcupdinwe?” 

“Sorry ‘enry, you’ve lost me?”

“Oh don’t mind me… force of habit, bit of the old church latin… I slip into it when I’m n the sauce. Actually, you know what darling, I’ve gone RIGHT off that pint. My late bruvva got me into Spanish lagers but I’m going off ‘em RAPID. Get us something closer to home girl… a nice Kentish Ale maybe… yea, one of them Spitfires will do lovely.”

*barmaid pours a Spitfire; Henry takes a sip*

“Propa! The first pint doesn't count, we all know that,..in my view the first ones are always null and void - the booze euphoria only kicks in on the second."

“Mind if I light up in here darlin’?”

*barmaid tentatively points to the No Smoking sign but thinks better of it and hastily lowers her arm*

*Henry sparks a Superking and exhales smoke in her face*

“Ahhhhhhh.... that’s better... sweetasanut, that sets me up right nice. Used to roll me own din’I but the fingers got a bit too chubby – a-hahahaha. Guess what baccy I liked? Old Holbein – a-hahahaha”

*Henry slaps thigh and sinks the second pint in one*

“WALLOP!! I MURDERED that didn’I? Let’s up it a notch luv – I fancy something West Country now”

“A nice cider praps Hen?”

“Triffic luv… I’m on the firm”

*barmaid pours a pint of high-strength “Ol Rosy”*

*Henry takes a swig and smacks his lips*

“Ooooh yeaa… Dynamite…. I can See-Mour of those going down…. Yea it’s good to back on the manor treacle, this feels right propa, sinking a few sherbets in the Boleyn, out huntin tomorra with Dyer, game of cards round Thomas More’s Friday night… you can’t complain can ya?”

*meanwhile on the big screen, Sky Sports run a story on Zola getting a “vote of confidence” from the West Ham board*

“Dieu et mon droit!! The old “vote of no confidence”… I invented that!! You don’t believe me, ask Cardinal Wolsey!!! AH-HAH-HAH-HA. *Henry creases up and accidentally spills his own pint*

“BOLLOCKS!! That was doing a job that! Fac-similie”

*the Barmaid suggests a strong German pilsner to get him back on track. Henry finds it undrinkable and orders her to take it back. He checks the time on his chunky Rolex*

“What’s that plum Dyer playing at? He was only gonna be ten minutes”

“What’s he dong Hen? Why aren’t you out there filming with him?”
“Oh… he said he was doing his “to camera” slot... the bit where he admits he’s “shitting it” and thinks he might have got in “too deep””

*Henry peeks out of the window, sees Dyer struggling on take 34*

“Sweet as – looks like there’s time for a couple more. How about something from East Anglia darling? What Greene King ales you got on?”

“Err.. Abbot Ale?”

“BEE-AAVE yourself… you saucy mare”

“Ok… try this new one, it’s a cheeky little blonde number”

*barmaid pours a Greene King*

*Henry is now feeling the effects of his liquid lunch, and drunkenly reminisces*

“So we’re at Hampton Court one night luv. Me, Thomas More, Booby Moore and Gandhi playing 3-card brag… fuck knows why, everyone knows Gandhi is right ‘andy at brag… but I digress….”

*barmaid is looking bored… picks her nose*

“… and Mooro says “did I ever tell you about the time Jimmy Greaves and me….”

*Henry’s mobile rings… ring tone is a techno version of Greensleeves… it’s Dyer*

“Enry?”

”Dyer?”

“Yes sunshine… look me old mate, my ‘eads done in, gonna knock off for a pint, you know I can’t show my boat where you are, so we’re in the Queens raaan the corna…. that Sweet?”

“Sweet as”

“Propa”

“Propa”

“Large”

*click*

“Where was I......? Err,..actually,.....this pint is Gash luv – and take the fuckin ‘ed off it will ya? Infact give me something else. Just something plain but dependable for me 6th one…”

*Barmaid pours a Carling *

Henry’s rating for the Boleyn Tavern – 8/ 10

Steveo