Penderel's Oak (Chancery Lane)

Mr Spoon (Button Moon)

"Chancery Lane Bar Manager Caught Fluffing Carling!"

Sounds like a headline from the back pages of The Sunday Sport doesn't it? "Ex England Rugger Captain - Will, falls on hard times and turns to "niche" internet films, to make ends meet". But it's not that, you've the wrong end of the handle there my friends. This is in fact, a totally different kettle of fish,..it's only another work related text on my mobile ain’t it!

Now, don't get me wrong. I've nothing against "Fluffers" per-se. I mean, if you're talking about them in the context of the 'World Wide Web', well, I'm an open minded guy, and i know that people have to get their kicks somehow. I'm never one to begrudge anyone a living, no matter what it is that they turn their hand to. But in my game,..and by that i mean, the pub game, "Fluffing" just will not stand.

I mean "Staff"! Who needs em?! They phone in sick, they bugger off to have babies, they pilfer from the till, and they lie. Believe you me, If I could jump in the old rocket and flip forward a few centuries to a time of fully automated boozers, I do it in a shot. But I can’t, once again I’m stifled by inert technology. You're talking to a geezer who’s Rocket’s top speed is dependant on how fast the bloke behind the curtain pulls the string!!

See, it's a face to face industry; the drinking one. It's about 'greasing palms', 'slapping backs' and 'massaging egos'. It's 'flesh and bone', 'skin on skin',...it's about "taking out the trash". Show me a machine that can spot when a rugger-bugger is about to chunder (and get him outside), or one that can spy a moody ten pound note at ten paces, and i'd bite your hand off to place the first order. But you can't can ya,...it just don't exist.

So, if you say to me "Staff! Who needs em!?" Well, the unfortunate answer to that, is "Me!"

My value is my brand. Essentially "Spoon's" means cheap, no-frills booze with reasonably priced, unpretentious food, served in a tried and tested pub design format. I suppose it's the equivalent of Tesco's "Economy range". "Why have pheasant when you can have Spam, and then free up some change for pints!”, and all that crap?

Yeah, it probably IS crap, but It's a formula that works (well i'm a multi-millionaire aint i!),…especially in times of recession. However it's a system that works,...only,..as long as the staff do. Which brings me back to my original point about "Fluffing".

See, as the head of a corporation that employs over 5,000 staff the length and breadth of the country, I’m used to bureaucracy. But in certain situations, I still swear by the old maxim, ‘if you want something doing properly, then use a Spoon’. So when i get a prime tip-off like this, i act.

The rumour here, is that the Saffa Bar Manager, in this, my (admittedly pitiful) Chancery Lane outlet, doesn't know his arse from his (rascist) elbow and has been ‘fluffing up’ the pints, serving short measures and generally taking the piss outa old Spoony here. (Pulling a Moony at Spoony if you will),….. *walking into the pub*......Well let's just see about that,...

*A disguised (Mr) Spoon heads into the pub and on up to the bar, copy of the Racing Post in hand, and affecting an air of mild desperation, he could be any 'daytime drinking enthusiast' by the looks of him. He eventually catches the morose-looking Bar Manager's eye and orders.*

"Hello there, Fosters Top please"

*grunting, making no eye contact,..begrudgingly starts pouring….The barrel goes off, midway through pouring the pint and the Manager looks over to see if Spoon has clocked it. He presumes not, cos, to all intents and purposes he hasn't, having stayed facing the optics,..but Spoon (of course) has seen everything, it being reflected in the mirror behind the bar. The Manager proceeds to feverishly pump the pint, leaving it with a head that is a least halfway down the glass.*

*handing it over* "£2.39 mate"

Banged to rights. *Spoon puts his hand behind his ear* "Sorry,..sorry mate?!"
*aggessively* "£2.39 mate!!"

"Is it, is it really,..!? *reading name tag* And what might your surname be Brett, my old friend?"

"None of you business mate!"

"Ah, well, i'm afraid that's where you're wrong matey. I was admiring your bar work back there Brett, and i've gotta say, that's some knife technique you've got going on chum…. My names Mr Spoon, and i'm afraid pal, that you are gonna have to go get your coat and then, fork off!"

*Spoon passes over a P45 with one hand, whilst simultaneously giving the Manager the bird with the other. As he sips his insipid fluffed-up (1/2) pint of Foster’s with a look of disqust, the Manager is wrestled to the floor and carried out by two heavies.*

You see, yeah, i've been to Button Moon, made some money, and i've a fair few followers and imitators on the back of it. But i'm still the leader. Sure, i'm often kicking around up there in Space (away with the fairies), but my 'plates of meat' are always well and truly, on the ground.

No one gets one over the spoon!.........Hey, I may be a utensil, but i'm nobody's f**king Tool!!

Mr Spoon's rating for The Penderel's Oak - 1 / 10 (and it's my f**king boozer!)

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