Walrus Social (Waterloo)

Neo (The Matrix)

Best place to sort out a disagreement? Down the boozer of course. It was in the Walrus Social that we settled what must rate as one of the biggest arguments of all time.

Let me explain. For years internet chat-rooms had been buzzing with claims and counter-claims from those professing to be the one. I reckoned I had a pretty strong case, but (apparently) there were other contenders too.

In the end it was the Highland swordsman, Connor McLeod, who took action. He said that, in his mind, there was no room for plurality. So he booked a venue, called it 'The Gathering' and wrote that there could be only one about a dozen times in the invitation e-mail.

I agreed, but frankly he didn't half labour the point.  We arranged to meet in the upstairs function room at the Walrus Social which was fine by me 'cause I love the place.

McLeod and me were joined by Chandler Jarrell. José Marino was supposed to come too, but he backed out at the last minute. Said he'd 'mis-read the argument', 'didn't claim to be the one – merely the special one'. I suspected a semantic bottle-out from the former Chelsea boss, but hey-ho.

Anyway, the evening started badly. None of us had been to the cash-point and between us there was barely enough to cover one round and a plate of natchos with dips.

I dunno if it was the money thing, but McLeod started getting aggressive from the off, swinging his massive sword around and claiming to be immortal. He threatened to swipe our heads off there and then, adding that be-heading was the only way to kill an immortal. And he made that statement without a hint of contradictory irony.

Jarrell kept telling him to pipe down; said he didn't do violence. I was with him on that! But Jarrell's claim to be the chosen one was as weak as a pint of Carling. Some nonsense about slaying demons and rescuing a painted Tibetan kid? The Golden Child he said, like that meant something. I mean, give me a break.

My argument was obviously the strongest. The emancipation of humanity from a lifetime playing Duracels to the machine enslavers. In the bag, I thought. But, judging by the vacant stares, I think I should've left this pair of half-witted battery packs plugged in to service the pub's microwaves and Jonny machine.

We were down to the dregs, the natchos had all but gone and we were getting nowhere. When suddenly, out of thin air (it seemed) a man appeared. He had a kindly, omniscient-looking face with a scruffy - yet omnipotent - beard. He was wearing sandals and smelt a bit strange – a combination of carpentry and fish.

"Christ alive! …. What does this hippy want?" I thought to myself.

Very calmly he sat down with us.

"So, each of you guys thinks you're the one do you?" he asked. "Well watch this."

Then, he throws a glance over his shoulder to check the barman isn't watching and gently glides his palms over the top of the three empty glasses. Followed by the natcho-less bowl.

Stone the crows, I couldn't believe my eyes. Somehow, our pints were full of lager again - right up to the brim. With no frothy head. Plus, the bowl was literally overflowing with corny natchos (sadly no extra dip).

We were flabbergasted. Jarrell looked at me. I nodded to McLeod. And the three of us turned back to this incredible dude.

"Jesus," I said. "That was amazing. Whoever you are mate, you must be the chosen one….. the special one. There can be only one and it's you."

We all took a sip of our pints (heavenly and cold), but by the time we'd put them down, the bloke had gone. Vanished into thin air like a kind of magic.

It was a miraculous performance, in an excellent south-of-the-river pub. In fact, I found the whole experience so amazing, that I handed in my notice on the revolutionary cyber-ship the next day. Went to work at the Walrus permanently.

Pop in; you might see me. You'll certainly recognise the coat although there's not so much hair on the old swede as there was when that photo was taken!

Neo's rating for the Walrus Social – 9 / 10

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