Market Porter (London Bridge)

William D-Fens Foster (Falling Down)

When it comes to anger, I’ll take the Pepsi challenge with Griff Rhys Jones any day of the week.

Yeah, it's a problem, but if everyone will just stay out of my way, no one will get hurt. 

In mitigation, I could tell you about splitting with the missus and the the court order that says I can't come within a hundred yards (or was it metres?) of my daughter. Or that I’m not now considered 'economically viable' what with losing my job at Lehmann Brothers last week.

I abandoned my car in a traffic jam on London Bridge this morning, then took it out on a few local hoods with shooters in Borough Market. Truth is; I'm at breaking point. I need a cool pint of lager to calm myself.

See, I’m angry, but I’m not a sick asshole; I’m an American …..clear a path to the bar.. 

* enters the Market Porter, a massively over-rated pub near Borough Market *

Sheila the barmaid: “Hi, my name’s Sheila; can I help you.”

D-Fens: “Hi …. yes.. I’d like a pint of Fosters-top with a side order of salted peanuts and …..”

Sheila (interrupting): “I’m sorry, we stopped serving lager; we only serve real-ale.”

D-Fens: “……I want lager.”

Sheila: “Well, you can’t have it. We’re not serving it.”

D-Fens: “….. so you said …* turning to a look at a gangly twot behind the bar *.. is that the manager?”

Sheila: “Yeah”

D-Fens: “Can I speak to him please?”

Sheila: “Sure……. Oh Rick, there’s a customer would like to speak with you.”

* Rick walks over, grinning inanely *

Rick: “Yes sir!”

D-Fens: “Hi, I’d like a pint of lager with a small top.”

Rick: “We stopped serving lager.”

D-Fens: “I know you stopped serving lager Rick; Sheila told me you’re not serving lager……,….why am I calling you by your first names?...... I still call my boss mister and I worked for him for seven years. I walk in here all of a sudden, a total stranger, and I’m calling you Rick and Sheila like we’re in some AA meeting.”

“I don’t want to be your buddy Rick; I just want a Fosters-top.”

Sheila (cutely): “you can call me Miss Bolsom if you like…”

Rick: “Sheila!.....We stopped serving lager last Christmas.”

* D-Fens checks his watch. It’s only 9 months since Christmas …. he just missed the cut *

D-Fens: “Rick, have you ever heard the expression the customer is always right?”

Rick (sneering): “Yeah”

D-Fens (smiling menacingly): “Well, here I am. The customer.”

* Sheila smiles too, enjoying the exchange of views*

Rick: “That’s not CAMRA policy. You have to order something from the real-ale blackboard.”

D-Fens: “I don’t want real-ale. I want lager.”

Rick: “yeah well, hey, I’m really sorry.”

D-Fens: “Yeah, well hey I’m really sorry too.”

* D-Fens removes a gun from his Adidas bag, stolen from hoods following the altercation earlier in the day. Punters in the Market Porter scream and head for the door. D-Fens is having none of it. *

D-Fens: “…..calm down….. sit down….hey mister... where you going?... sit down and finish your pint. Just relax ….. take it easy….come on now….you all need your alcohol and hops.

* accidentally shoots up the roof *

D-Fens (yelling): “It was an accident….. it was an accident. ....it’s a, a sensitive trigger. It’s OK, it’s alright.... It’s just a sensitive trigger….Rick could I have my Fosters-top now please?”

Rick (panicking): “yes sir.”

D-Fens: “…..Rick? Miss Bolsom? You know what? You were right; I think I’ve changed my mind; I’ll have a real ale. Can I have a pint of Fusty Ferrets-arse …Rick? are you getting this?”

Rick: “Yes sir”

D-Fens: “and a packed of pork scratchings. And, let me see, 20 Marlborough Lights.”

Rick: “Yes sir. Sheila; get his order.”

D-Fens: “Rick could you get it for me please. I feel more comfortable calling you Rick after all we’ve been through.”

* Rick’s shaking hand pours D-Fens' pint (with Sheila’s help); meanwhile D-Fens calmly chats with other patrons, one of whom pukes into her glass *

D-Fens: “Rick, I think we have a critic. I don’t think the Abbots ale has been kept right … It’s a joke.”

* D-Fens turns back to the bar and Rick hands him a pint of brown sludge - as appealing as a bowl of diarreah *

D-Fens: “You see, this is what I’m talking about….. Take a pint of lager….. It’s golden, refreshing and bubbly..... Then look at this sorry, miserable excuse for a pint.

* turns to address real-ale monkeys *

D-Fens: “Can anybody tell me what’s wrong with this pint? Anybody…..Anybody?”


D-Fens rating for the Market Porter 0 / 10

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