George (Gt Portland Street)

Neal Page (Planes, Trains and Automobiles)

I don't think the boss will understand.

See, today's Christmas Eve and I've been here before; I know how hard it can be to get home to my beautiful family during a busy winter holiday. My boss won't get it because he lives five minutes from the office. No travel chaos for him!

Frankly though, I'm not willing to go through what I went through last Thanksgiving. That journey from hell with Del Griffith, the curtain-ring, ring-piece. Invited him back to ours to gobble down some turkey and he ends up goosing the missus in the kitchen after a couple of glasses of Blue Nun. That's gratitude for you.

This time, I'm seizing the initiative. Seeing as it's Christmas I don't see why I shouldn't ask Scrooge to give me some Christmas cheer and send me home before midnight, before I'm forced to spend another night in a Travelodge drying myself with Giant Haystacks brother's underpants. Here goes.

Page knocks on boss's door

Boss: "Ah, Neal, come in. How are you? Still in the office I see?"

Page: "Yeah, see that's why I'm here boss. I really need to get home to my family to whom I'm absolutely devoted; I know we're busy…but I was just wondering …."

Boss: "Say no more Neal. For goodness sake. Basingstoke isn't it? Get yourself off there right now. That's an order! Merry Christmas."

Typical. Just as I thought, the monster is gonna make me work late. Well, I won't have it. Screw him. My wonderful family come first; I'm taking off – and now.

Storms out of the office and down to Oxford Street tube. Approaches a guard

Page to Underground Ernie: "I take it all the tubes are up the spout, what with this spell of bad weather and it being Christmas eve?"

Ernie: "Can't say it is mate; every tube line is moving fine."

Oh great, that's just great. As I expected. Delays, delays, delays. Well nothing else for it, I'll just have to head up the George in Great Portland Street for a quick pint and pray they sort it out.

Page props up the excellent bar, with its attentive staff and row of weak lager taps, for four pints of Carling before looking at his watch

Page to barmaid: "I loves my kids I do; there's nothing I wouldn't do for them * belches * Bleedin' Underground, bleedin' public transport; I'll never get home at this rate. That Ken Livingstone. NHS is failing, school teachers are rubbish; send 'em back, that's what I say."

Barmaid: "Listen mate, I get this from you every Friday night; Besides, I heard the tubes are running fine; Perhaps you should just make the effort on Christmas Eve?"

A scowling Page leaves and finds the tube are, indeed, still running without problems. Takes the underground to Waterloo.

Well here I am at Waterloo and it's 4.00 pm already. This is a nightmare. If I get home tonight it'll be a bloody miracle

Page to station staff: "I take it all the trains to Basingstoke are delayed? Leaves on the line? Engineering works? What's the bleedin' excuse tonight sunshine?"

Station staff:  "Everything's running fine mate. The fast one leaves in ten minutes. Platform 14. You've got plenty of time guv. No hurry."

Typical. All trains cancelled. Just what I expected. Someone call the BBC. And for how long? I'll just have to go down the Kings Arms for a couple and hope – nay pray – for a miracle.

Three pints later, Page staggers back to the concourse to find trains running without a hitch. He jumps on a fast one and heads straight for the bar.

Page to steward: "Yeah mate….hic….I'd do anyfing … anyfing at all for my wife and kids ….. I loves 'em to bits……and if it wasn't for my boss and this country's lousy transport system and that Tony Blair, I'd be home by now…hic."

Steward: "Can of Carlsberg. That'll be £5.90 please."

9.00 pm. Page arrives at Basingstoke. A huge line of taxis stretches into the horizon

Oh yeah. … typical.... just freakin' typical….. lazy cabbie gits …. gone home to theirs …leaving me stranded…. How am I going to get to Brighton Hill now? * starts crying * God it's so bloody cold * it's not cold * I'll just have to…. fort….fortify myself for the trek home …home to my family to whom I'm devoted…. I'd do anyfing for the little bleeders….. * cries all the way to the Queens Arms, 100 yards away *

Two hours and another four pints later, Page leaves and stumbles up the road singing Moon River violently. He arrives home at midnight covered in sick, fumbling his keys in the front door. 

Page (shouting): "Darling…. kids I'm f...f...home…. Merry Chistmas to one and all…. Santa's made it…..I ain't got no f....f.....presents though…. But….I'm here...that's good enough innit….. ya…ya…ya…buncha jerks."

Del Griffith: opening the door, wearing Page's dressing gown "Surprise! Merry Christmas!"

Neal Page's rating for the George - 8 / 10

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