Int. Elsop’s Pub, night
The pub is filled, bursting with life. People gather and drink and carry on, as per usual for a Saturday night. No one has noticed the old wooden enclosed bar phone booth in the corner. It’s always been there, hasn’t it?

Out of the booth steps a man. He is THE BASTARD. He strides forward, full of purpose and sits at an empty table. A waitress comes by.

Waitress: What’ll it be then?

The Bastard: A tour of every bar ever. What do you say? And get me a damned drink. Scotch.

Waitress: I’ll be back … uhh … with your drink.

The waitress goes off, muttering, and comes back with a scotch, neat.

The Bastard: So how about it?

Waitress: How about what?

The Bastard: That tour.

Waitress: What are you on about?

The Bastard: I’m serious. Step into my office.

The Bastard gets up, with his drink, and takes the waitress’ elbow. He leads her to the phone booth. The glass doors show the old interior of a generic enclosed bar phone booth. Rotary on the wall, phonebook missing a cover chained to a small shelf.

The Bastard: This way.

Waitress: We don’t have a phone closet.

The Bastard: You don’t. I do.

Waitress: Who are you?

The Bastard: I’m The Bastard!

Waitress: Bastard? You?

The Bastard flings open the phone booth and steps inside. The waitress, uncertain but strangely compelled, follows him. Inside it is much, much, bigger. There is a central control station, surrounded by an old wooden bar, complete with taps.

The Bastard: Just a second, I forgot something. But then we have to deal with your bouncer.

Waitress: Clive? But he’s harmless.

The Bastard: He’s new, right?

Waitress: Started last week. Why? How do you know that?

The Bastard: Clive is a prohibitionist from Rexlatingoria Seven. Rude little people. Anyway. Right!

The Bastard grabs a small metal object and heads for the door, putting his hand on the waitress’ elbow again.

Waitress: What … where are we?

The Bastard: The BARDIS!

Waitress: The whatsits?

The Bastard: The BARDIS! Beer and Relative Dimension in Space. Why, with this ship we can go to any bar on any planet in all of time and space! And we will. After we deal with Clive and his lot.

Waitress: With what? That bit of metal?

The Bastard: The sonic corkscrew, you mean? It’ll do.

Waitress: You’re crazy.

The Bastard: No… I’m just very, very drunk.

Waitress: You don’t even know my name!

The Bastard: Shirley. But I don’t really care. You’re a waitress. I like waitresses. They wait on you. Bring you drinks. Work for tips. I always travel with a waitress.

Waitress: Then where is she?

The Bastard: Sometimes things happen. They leave. Become actresses. You know. But once they’re gone, who can even remember their names?

Waitress: Wow, you are a bastard.

The Bastard: Not A, sweetheart. The. The Bastard. Now! Clive!

Waitress: And then you expect me to come with you, you loon, and just leave my whole life behind?

The Bastard: Well sure, why not? More fun than you’re having now. Better tips. All of time and space. Drinks you can’t even imagine.

Waitress: Well … maybe.

The Bastard: It’ll do! Now, come on!