Dickens Inn (Tower Hill)

William Shakespeare (Shakespeare in Love)

It’s the weekend and I’m planning to get myself to a nunnery at the close of play tonight. But, before I dip the old Shakespearan wick, I need to get properly tanked with the lads. AND impart some of my legendary wit and insults.

I need to be careful though; the older I get, the more my insults seem to be getting the Bard in trouble. And the more the lads seem to be losing patience,.. what with bailing us out from the aftermath of my sartorial brilliance.

I’d give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. But the reality is I’m a wordsmith, not a fighter; I need someone to ‘jump-in’ if it starts ‘going-off’. Quaffing and drinking will undo you, that’s what I always say. Ha ha ha!

I’m meeting the crew at Tower Hill tube tonight and, if I’m perfectly honest, I reckon they won’t be best pleased to see me, after last weekend’s ‘me-induced’ bother in the Kings Arms. Still, I’m not short of confidence in my own ability to bring a crowd round,..I’ll try zapping ‘em with some olde worldy charm from the off, in the hope it’ll lighten the mood.

Ahoy, hoy! Here they come now…….

Bard: Hey nonny non Jules; why then tonight let us assay our plot. Ten pints of Fosters top, then a coupla hours bashing the card at Spearmint Rhinos don’t you think? I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you. Verily, forsooth and all that cobblers.

Jules: Look Wills; cut the crap. We’re sick of all this pseudo-Elizabethan patter. It’s not funny, it’s not clever and it always gets us into trouble. Me and the lads have had a chat; if you’re not willing to move into the 21st century, then you can sling your bleedin’ hook.

* group nods in conspiratorial agreement *

Bard: (sighs) Oh alright, I hear what you’re saying Jules. C’mon, I’ll be a good boy tonight; I promise. No clever lines. No Elizabethan insults. Just a decent session with my mates. Shakey on his best behaviour. What’s the plan anyway?

Jules: I’m serious here William. One last chance. This time we mean it……(Bard nods)…..well, we’ve decided to kick-off in the Dickens tonight; it’s just around the corner.

Bard: What? …….the Dickens!?! As in ‘Charles ‘I can’t-write-for-toffee’ Dickens’? Oh for f*cks sake…..Please tell me, tis all but a jest?...No!....Jules ……though art a jarring, sheep biting bum-bailey for suggesting such a boozer. I find the ass in compound to the major part of your syllables.

Jules: Knock it on the head Wills; I meant what I said; we’re not putting up with any soliloquial crap. We’re going to the Dickens; like it or lump it.

Bard: Yeah, yeah, alright. Sorry. I’ll tag along. Although my expectations ain’t great……..C’mon let’s go.

* they stroll from Tower Hill Tube to the Dickens Inn, an impressive multi-story Swiss-cottage, style boozer, in a magnificent location overlooking St Catherine’s dock. The Bard launches himself at the bar and orders five Fosters Tops *

Bard (takes first sip, winces and turns to the barman): Oi mate, I said ‘tops’. There ain’t a drop of lemonade in these pints. You deaf or what?……you……You puking whoreson barnacle. You…..you…. fusty hedge-born scut.

Barman: eh?

* the group quickly drag the Bard away from the bar, apologising profusely for his behaviour *

Jules: F*cking hell Wills. We’ve had enough of you. You promised to behave and you couldn’t even make it past the bar without the insults. That’s it! Just f*cking ‘do one’ back to the 17th century.

Bard: I’m right sorry lads….please….. I dunno what came over me at the bar. That’s the last insult I promise. Please, please, give me one more chance? ……I gotta go piss; I’ll sort meself out down there. Just hold the fort here and I’ll be back in a tick.

* Shakespeare’s mates take the opportunity to duck out of the pub whilst Shakey relieves himself. Meanwhile, in the bog the bloke peeing in the next urinal accidentally splashes the Bard’s shoes, or rather such shoes as his toes look through the over-leather *

Bard: Ooooh, you clumsy c*nt! Look what you’ve done.

Bloke: Sorry mate, just an accident. These things happen.

Bard: Not to me they don’t! Not to The Bard! These shoes were new just 400 years ago, I’ll have you know….. Hast thou never an eye in thy head? Thou wayward unwash'd wagtail. Thou has not so much brain as ear wax. you bottle-ale rascal, you filthy bung; Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. Thou hast…..

*The Bard’s diatribe is abruptly halted by a swift upward boot to his 400-year old testicles *

Bard: Ahhhh, I am slain…..


William Shakespeare’s rating for the Dickens Inn 6 / 10

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