Reef Bar (Waterloo)

Mark Renton (Trainspotting)

Hoots mon, the noo, I'm dying for a dump! Ma airse is aboot ta f****n' explode.

Comin' off the s***e makes me want to s***e for Scotland. Hoos that for irony?

I've been clean for aboot a week noo. Came off the c**t cold turkey, ya ken. That's the good news. The doon side, is I that have an express train at ma a***hole, and if I don't get ta'a station quick, then the f****r's gonna speed on through regardless.

Nice metaphor that, since I find mysel wi this dilemma at Waterloo. Standing on the platform, ma eyes dart this way and that, lookin' for a public s*****r. Then I clock it; the Reef Bar. It's a s***ehole, nay question aboot it, but any station s***ehole has a s***ehole, so that's where I'm heeded.

Thing aboot these station pubs, they're f*****g bollocks the lot ay them. Maist are just stop-off joints for the drunk and dispossessed, like me. Or some f*****r desperate for a s***e, again like me, ya ken?

I barge past people on the stairs up to the balcony bar which – as usual - is full ah f****n' commuters. I'm clutching my guts which are turnin' likeKatrina at force five. At the top, I swerve to the left and inta the bog. But the f****r's only locked; friggin' keypad on the door.

Seems they b******s who own the place dinna want riff-raff junkies like me unloadin' in their f****n' bogs. So I run to the bar with my guts at Def Con 2. I'm expecting a fight, but luckily there's an ancient wifey behind the counter who takes pity on me, gies us the combo.

I rush back armed with ma number, ma shakin' fingers stabbin' at the right keys, my watery turtle pushing its heed oot the shell.

Inside I dreamed of cubicles with pristine, porcelain bowls. Flunkies ready to hand me sheets of soft, white paper. What I got was the worst toilet in London. I even thought I saw the sign.

Christ, it's a mingin' s*****r, even by London pub standards. Nay'hin' as bad as this in any pub I've seen. Not even in Edinburgh. It's like an H-block cell circa 1981, complete wi' dirty protest all o'er the walls.

But I've got nay choice. This is an emergency. So it's inta the stall, doon with ma keks, and off ta' let rip. Piss and water lapping at my trainers while I'm dain ma business. Disgusting.

Emergency over, I start to calm doon. I'm hummin' the tune to Ship Building by Elvis Costello, but I'm thinking S*** Buildin. Dead creative ya ken.

F**k!

I just remembered. That f****n' junkie b*****d gave me a suppository to gie us a wee boost like. I shoved it up my airse not half an hour ago. F****n' lost in the mire the noo though.

Looks like I'm just gonna have ta go divin' for pearls. Again.

Mark Renton's rating for The Reef Bar, Waterloo – 1 / 10

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