Malcolm Tucker (In the Loop)

The World's End (Brighton)

Malcolm Tucker pushes his frodoesque assistant Toby Wright through the wooden doors of the pub.

“Being fired’s no’ the end of the world. I bounced back from worse losses than this when you were sitting in yer wee daddy’s front room trying to knock one off to the ginger minge off Girls Aloud.”

A toothy barman eyes them from under a sign proclaiming ‘The World’s End’.

“Or maybe it is,” says Malcolm regarding the sign and barman’s smile with disgust. “Talk about large friendly, fucking letters,” he mutters under his breath.

“You buy the drinks, mincing minion. I’m off for a slash.”

He spies a fat Buddha panhandling for piss pennies on the stairs before the toilets.

“What the fuck was this place about?” he thinks, taking more time now to survey the bar.

At a table, a man in a mobility chair reads the Daily Sport. At another two Greebos ladle Sunday lunch.

As if one flat screen telly isn’t enough, he detects - with disgust - the whir of an even larger one near the DJ’s mix tables.

“Do they actually need to throw crisps at a full size Wayne Rooney before they’re fuckin’ happy?” he growls.

Ten more punters are getting comfy watching the game - pints in hand on their wooden halfbacks; a guy and his girlfriend lounge on a leather sofa while two crusties shoot pool in the corner; two more are playing darts.

“Everybody’s smiling; getting on well? Jesus!” he thinks.

At the top of the stairs there’s more red rags; quizzes, signs heralding a retro games night, talent spots and poker sessions. Inexplicably named board games like Othello litter the bar.

He shivers. "So liberally eclectic…. So fucking Brighton."

Then, the all important toilet door monikers. 'Shake dry' or 'Drip dry' – just like home. Nostalgia… Surely the bogs will be properly grubby then? He sniffs hopefully.....But he's disappointed.

“Where’s the overwhelming stench of urine?”, he thinks. “Even the shitters don't seem too bad.” His kidneys rage in anger.

Why is it so nice here?

Why?

Malcolm pisses, zips up before heading for the stairs.

"Now, where is that hamster-haired whipping boy?" he snarls with venom, then spies him talking to crusties at the bar….smiling.

"Having a good time eh? Part of their dirty little drum circle, acting like he’d never so much as lifted a box of staples in his life, yet still wearing the Suits You two-piece."

“Come on Pride o’ Shire, we’re going,” barks Malcolm lifting his assistant’s seat.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

“All this,” he says loud enough for a wide audience, “It’s an evil little plot to lull us into a false sense of security.”

“Eh?” says the barman.

“Don’t you deny it donkey. I see you,” he growls pointing - accusing. “I see all of yous real ale drinking bastards. Why is nobody sniggering at the guy in the wheelchair? I’m sweating spinal fluid not to shit in my hand and throw it at him.”

The barmaid blanches.

“Oh, am I offending you, little miss greatest good for greatest number, free spirit, egalitarian fucking barmaid. Aren’t you horrible to anyone?”

Malcolm turns to diners.

“And you troughers, what about the food? Enjoying that lambshank are you darlin’?...oh you are? Your face makes me want to puke sweetheart.”

She laughs, enraging Malcolm more.

“You all stop fucking enjoying yourself,” he screams pointing around the bar. “That includes you couch hooligans. Don’t you bastards mind that there’s people playing Connect Four while you shout at light playing off an inanimate piece of plastic. Where were yous in Italia ‘90? Just a bunch of twinkle in yer daddy’s sacks; that’s where.”

“And you mushrooms playing pool with your unwashed hair? Get back to the park, with the skater boys and potheads.”

“I know what’s going on here. I run the Labour party now - not you friendly socialist bastards. You’ll see. I’ll marshal the media forces of darkness to hound you all into an assisted suicide. Let’s go Frodo.”

He grabs his serf by the collar.

“But I don’t want to.” Toby complains.

“Yes you do."

"We’re off to a real fucking pub ……where people know how to drink piss and be miserable.”

Malcolm’s rating for the World’s End – 0 / 10
Toby’s rating for the World’s End – 7 / 10

Becks & Liam