Happy Hour is over in the New Austerity Inn
 And Rachel’s surveying the thinning crowd. 
“I thought it would be better than this,” 
She says to no one in particular.

The locals call her Rachel the Barmaid
They don’t think she’s qualified
To run the pub on her own.
She’s pinned her certificate to the wall
But done nothing about the flat beer
Or watered down spirits.

Meanwhile, outside the Wetherspoons
A man in mustard-coloured trousers
Hides a glass of Chablis behind a pint of your finest ale
Lights a cigarette
And waits.