Hatchet (Mansion House)

Lieutenant John McClane (Die Hard)

“Come to London,” she said, “You’ll have a blast!”

Have a blast, is right. Yet again, I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, it’s the story of my life.

Here we go again.

We’d come to Bank station on the Central Line, to see The Bank of England and surrounding attractions. You’d think that would be relaxing wouldn’t you? You’d think that it would be a simple tourist operation?

You’d be wrong.

Milling around the city, I quickly became bored looking at the old buildings and told Holly that I was gonna go grab an English pint.

So we went our separate ways for the afternoon, and that’s when mine started to go downhill.

I was leisurely strolling along Queen Victoria Street, minding my own business, when, wouldn’t you know it. The woman in front of me drops her newspaper! Why is it always me, I thought, as I judo-rolled to the ground and scooped it up.

Here we go again, I thought, handing the paper back to the lady. She gave me a funny look, which I took to mean, “Thank god you were on hand.” There was no need for words.

I carried on walking, and believe it or not, before I had even reached the next corner, another crisis came my way, I saw two kids in front of me, they were eating apples and I could see that they were making to throw their cores into the trash.  They did, and (Yep!) one of them missed (and the core rolled to the side of the pavement!).

Why is it always me, I thought, as I launched myself at the fruit. Luckily, the core was barely rolling, and it was relatively easy to wrestle to a standstill.

As I got back to my feet, I realised that my shirt was covered in dog crap and ripped at the elbows. So I popped it into the trash along with the core (I had my vest on underneath anyhow).

“Yippee-ki-yay,” I said, and sparked up a Mayfair. This day was panning out to be a real turd kicker.

Cussing my bad luck, under my breath, I carried on past Burger King, thinking that nothing else could possibly go wrong.

As if!

A civilian car was attempting to reverse out of an alleyway. Welcome to the party pal! I thought, as I ran over to help back him out onto the main highway.

Mission accomplished, I stood breathless on the corner by Mansion House tube.

Don’t ask me what made me do it, cops instinct I guess, but I decided to look down at the floor. Yep, my laces had come undone in the melee.

“Just another day at the office for John McClane”, I said, to no one in particular.

Laces crisis averted I looked up and saw The Hatchet pub. Thinking “Wait until I tell Holly about this crazy afternoon!” I decided to go in.

Inside, it was tiny and filled with suits, who seemed friendly enough. After the insane day that I was having, it seemed a nice refuge.

“A pint of Fosters please,” I said to the beautiful barmaid.

“I’m zorry zir, but ze Fosters, it is off!” She replied

“Son of a bitch!” I thought, I don’t like that accent, I don’t like that accent one bit! *The Fosters being off sounded very suspicious too.* I knew, once again, it would be down to me, to save the day.

“Who’s in charge here!” I said, “I’ve had a mother of a day, and it seems to me it just got a hell of a lot worse!”

“How are ya mate. What’s tha matter with ya?” Said Pat the Irish Landlord.

“Oh you're in charge?” I said. “Well, I got news for you PAT, from back here it doesn't look like you're in charge of jack!”

“Get over your freakin' self pal!!” Said Pat. “No one’s interested in any of your nonsense here. There’s Stella there if you want it. Take it or leave it.”

“,…..Erm, ok,..I’ll take it then,...thanks” I said.

Lieutenant John McClane’s rating for The Hatchet -  9 / 10

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