Joe Allen, Covent Garden
13 Exeter Street
020 7836 0651
by Rhys Chris Peese
INT. JOE ALLEN - MORNING
Dark wood-panelled walls are covered with posters of long-forgotten musicals. On one side of the room is a well-stocked bar. It looks like it’s around 3am: it always looks like that in here, away from the natural light.
JAMES, a screenwriter, is typing on a Macbook. A waiter comes to refill his coffee. He grunts acknowledgement. He is the only customer: others have come and gone. Pull out to take in the door to the street. As it opens we realise that it’s actually 10am: daylight silhouettes RHYS, who walks in and joins JAMES. He speaks in a British accent.
Sorry I’m late. Traffic in Kennington.
We take in the posters – all of which are for London productions. This confirms that we’re not in New York at all. The WAITER comes over: immaculately dressed, he looks like a younger Russell Crowe.
Are you ready to order?
I’ll have the full English please, with
scrambled eggs. And coffee.
I’ll have the same.
The WAITER goes. RHYS stares at the table. JAMES leafs through Variety. Silence.
I am massively hungover.
JAMES nods. Fade out.
Fade up. The WAITER returns with two plates and puts them in front of JAMES and RHYS. They each have two pale sausages, some bacon, scrambled eggs, black pudding, properly grilled tomato, mushrooms, baked beans and half an English muffin. JAMES and RHYS set to eating.
This is the best black pudding I’ve ever
The mushrooms are a bit watery.
I don’t like mushrooms anyway. Do you
The WAITER returns and refills their coffee. He leaves.
Next time I might try the broiled