Bishops Finger (Smithfields) and Blue Anchor (Hammersmith)

Captain Willard (Apocalypse Now)

 Smithfields….sh*t….I'm still only in Smithfields. Every time I think I'm going to wake up back in the city.

When I was home after my first session it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing.

I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said yes to a divorce.

When I was here I wanted to be there; when I was there all I could think about was getting back into the city jungle. I've been here four hours now, in the Bishop's Finger.

Each minute I prop the bar here drinking Oranjeboom I get weaker; every second Charlie and Jules squat in city bars quaffing Magners over ice they get stronger.

I looked around, and the walls moved in a little tighter.

Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission and, for my sins, they gave me one. E-mailed it through to my laptop like room service, * how clever of a pub to have a special laptop zone, complete with ledge and wifi access! *

It was a real choice mission and when it was over I'd never want another.

I was going to the worse place in the world – Hammersmith. We weren't supposed to be power drinking that far west, but that was classified.

My mission was to proceed up river in a Thames Clipper and terminate the command of Colonel Sean Widmoor, a renegade middle manager who'd gone insane. He'd assembled an army of rugger-playing, real-ale drinkers who hung on his every word.

I'd seen pictures and heard his voice on a wav file and it really put the hook in me. Crazy talk about snails crawling along the edge of a straight razor and rugger at HQ in Twickers.

'His methods had become unsound,' the email said, 'he's gone insane'. And finally, the sinister 'terminate with extreme prejudice'. Deep down, I wasn't so sure; he was a fat man and a middle manager. That wasn't supposed to make a difference to me. But it did.

I took the mission. What the hell else was I going to do? But I really didn't know what I'd do when I found him. Only trouble was, I wouldn't be travelling alone. I was going up river with a bunch of kids, city stock and share monkeys with one foot in their graves.

It was a journey that took me into the heart of darkness. We left Embankment at dusk on the tourist boat and by evening had arrived at Hammersmith Bridge.

He was close, real close.

The bridge was lit up like a Christmas tree. Natives were trying to swim out and board our craft, desperate to escape the West London chaos.

Beyond it was only Widmoor. It felt like we were in the arsehole of the world, being sucked up river. Finally, in the distance we saw what we'd come for.

Standing on the bank like a pagan temple was his lair, The Blue Anchor. We pulled up to the berth where an aggressive landing party gathered to usher us in. I sent one of the city boys back to the boat, to radio for an air strike if necessary. Then went inside the pub with the other.

"Why would a nice guy like you want to kill a genius?" a madman shouted as we entered. I didn't respond.

It smelled like slow death in there. Widmoor was in a corner, surrounded by his people although in the light I couldn't see how large he'd become. He knew why I'd come though and seemed resigned to his fate. He addressed me with poetry.

"We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men, leaning together, headpiece filled with straw".

I'm not a fan of T.S. Elliot, so I moved quickly. Grabbed a knife from one of the tables and brought it down on his head several times. "Stitch that, you fat oaf!" I yelled.

He staggered, fell, and died. The horror; the horror.

After that, we stopped off for a couple. Not a bad pub really, the Blue Anchor. Then, having taking a leak, we called in the air strike to wipe the place off the map once and for all.

Almighty, almighty, we blew the mother into the stone age. This is the end. Beautiful friend.

Captain Willard's rating for the Bishop's Finger – 6 / 10

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