The pub in question being The Harp in Chandos Place. I'm propping the bar up, supping a pint or several of Dark Star APA. The place is emptying of a load of Millwall heading to Wembley for their annual promotion disappointment ritual, when this elderly and distinguished-looking geezer pitches up and asks for a pint and a half of beer.
As he orders, he gestures towards my half-empty glass. The barman asks if he would like a pint and a half of APA. The man appears not to comprehend, pointing again at my glass and saying (and I quote), "I'd like a pint and a half of beer, as such...".
Karl The Barman is puzzled, asks if he prefers dark or light beer (which draws no response), but drops a taster into a glass for Our Belgian Friend. As he sips, his wife arrives at the bar. She takes charge, sipping the nectar (APA is delicious) but then leaning over the bar to inform Karl thus:
"We are Belgian. Do you have any Stella?"
That whole country loses its place in the Top Three for this... To paraphrase Bob Hoskins in The Long Good Friday... "Belgium? I shit 'em!"