Blue Lion (Holborn)

Simba (The Lion King)

Mid-life crisis? Don't talk to me about mid-life crises. You don't know the 'alf of it, me old China.

I've been wrestling with one of them for friggin' years, innit. See, it's easy for that Pumba and Timon. All that Hakuna Matata bollocks. No worries for the rest of your life? No worries for the rest of their bleedin' lives more like, the lucky little prats.

The fat pig's only gone and got himself a Bentley 'asn't he, while the little one spends all his reddies dahn the casino or in Spearmint Rhinos. Pair of them, loaded up to their bleedin' eyeballs. Makes you sick.

Hakuna Matata. Yeah, sounds nice, but it goes dahn the khasi once you've got responsibilities. And believe me, I've turned responsibilities into an Olympic sport.

If it hadn't been for that daft baboon I could be driving me own Aston today, penthouse in Chelsea, gazelles seeing to me every whim. It could've been that good.

That ain't what 'appened though. Instead, I find meself with a whole pride of little ankle-biters and a troop that relies on me for every-blinkin'-thing, protection, food, comfort you bleedin' name it sunshine.

Worst of all though, since that documentary the media won't leave me alone. The lion king, for Arsenal's sake. Boy, if any prat knows how Diana felt it's me; half the weight of the world on her over-rated shoulders, the other half danglin' around my manky mane.

Miserable as sin I am, sitting in The Blue Lion. Geddit? Blue Lion

Anyway this is the end, 'cause it's all gone badly wrong. Just disgraced myself big-time over the road at ITN. Was doing an interview with some dolled-up Asian tart for the evening news, wasn't I.

She was up for a fight, asking me all hoity-toity-like about the relevance of a provincial African monarch in the modern global village. Educated Asian babe versus rough-as-ouses African lion; good telly they call that. What a load of cobblers.

So, I went and showed the silly cow, didn't I. Bit off her head – and not metaphorical-like either. Literal innit.

Live on air, and in front of five million viewers, snapped it off with one clean chomp. Blood's pouring out the stump, like bleedin' Etna erupting. Her soppy colleagues are screaming like chimps, running around like meerkats and I'm off like a cheetah. Straight out the door. Woosh!

Naturally I made a quick get away. I'm a bleedin' lion innit!

But then I got realistic; they'll catch up with me soon enough, I reasons to meself. A lion king in central Landan? Do me a favour. What's the point in running, you stupid cowson? Get yourself a pint of lager, sit down and wait for the old bill to take ya'a' whimaway.

That's what I done. Here I am, watching the commotion I caused at the entrance to ITN from my window seat in the Blue Lion, pint of cool lager in me 'airy paw. It’s a good pub this one, but it'll be the last pint I'll see for a long time.

The filth won't 'ang around for long. Half an hour or so I reckon, before some busy-body spots me. Then I'll be in the back of a van, on the way to Regent's Park clink for a lifetime of bleedin' incarceration.

Simba's rating for the Blue Lion – 9 / 10

Sputnikski

• View by pub
• View by reviewer
• View by place

• Letting yourself down

  A quick note on the ‘sensitive’ issue of letting oneself down when boozing. We’ve all done it after a few too many light ales. And we’ve all had to deal with the messy consequences… So the question is, should all … Continue reading →