[Withnail moves somewhat precariously to the bar. The pub is a simple affair with a few men sitting round at tables drinking.]

Withnail:  Two large gins, two pints of cider. Ice in the cider.

I:  If my father was loaded, I'd ask him for some money.

Withnail:  If your father was my father, you wouldn't get it.

Barman:  There you are, lads.

Withnail:  Chin chin.

[Withnail chinks his glass against the other, which I has not picked up yet, and downs the gin in one gulp. I follows suit but gags slightly.]

I:  Ugh. What about what-his-name?

Withnail:  What about him?

I:  Why don't you give him a call.

Withnail:  What for?

I:  Ask him about his house.

Withnail:  You want me to call what-his-name and ask him about his house?

I:  Why not?

Withnail:  Alright. what's his number?

I:  I've no idea - I've never met him.

Withnail:  Well neither have I. What the f**k are you talking about?

I:  Your relative with a house in the country.

Withnail:  Monty? Uncle Monty?

I:  That's him. That's the one. Get the Jag fixed up. Spend the weekend in the country.

Withnail:  Alright. Give us a tenner and I'll give him a bell.

I:  Get a couple more in. I'm going for a slash.

[Next to the door to the gents is a rather large Irish man sitting with his pint and his paper.]

Big Irish Man:  Ponce.

[I ignores him and goes into the gents.]

I [to himself]:  I could hardly piss straight with fear. He was a man with 3/4 of an inch of brain who'd taken a dislike to me. What had I done to offend him? I don't consciously offend big men like this. And this one's got a decided imbalance of hormone in him. Get any more masculine than that and you'd have to live up a tree.

[He reads the grafitti] 'I f**k arses.'  Who f**ks arses? [aloud] Maybe he f**ks arses. [to himself again] Maybe he's written this in some moment of drunken sincerity. I'm in considerable danger in here. I must get out of here at once.

[He walks back into the bar.]

Big Irish Man:  Perfumed ponce!

[Withnail is still at the bar. He has made considerable progress with his cider and is eating some snack.]

Withnail:  You'll be pleased to hear Monte's invited us for drinks.

I:  Balls to Monty, we're getting out.

Withnail:  Balls to Monty!? I've just spent an hour flattering the bugger.

I:  There's a man over there doesn't like the perfume. The big one. Don't look, don't look. We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail:  What are you talking about?

I:   I've been called a ponce.

[Withnail turns to address the room in general.]

Withnail:  What f**ker said that!?

[The large Irish gentleman in the corner gets up and walks over to them. Now he is upright and we see he is very large indeed and does not look friendly.]

Big Irish Man:  I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. Ponce!

Withnail (smiling):  Would you like a drink?

Big Irish Man:  What's your name? McF**k?!

[As he says this he jerks the scarf from around Withnail's neck.]

Withnail:  I've a heart condition. I've a heart condition. If you hit me, it's murder!

Big Irish Man:  I'll murder the pair of y'ers.

Withnail: My wife's having a baby. Listen, I don't know what my f... [he starts to say friend but decides on a better course of action] acquaintance did to upset you, but it's nothing to do with me. I suggest you both go outside and discuss it sensibly, in the street.

[They push past the man and rush to the door.]

Withnail:  Ahhhh, out of my way.