by Laura Wade
HARRY: You’d need to up there, wouldn’t you?
RACHEL: Yeah, French, Spanish and Geordie.
ED: Geordie Studies!
GUY: (Crap Geordie accent.) Weer’s me Newky Brown?
MILES: I’m sorry about this.
GEORGE: That was really excellent pâté – I had two, so –
CHRIS: Thank you.
GUY: Rachel, did you drink Newky Brown?
RACHEL: Only for breakfast.
RACHEL leans in to pick up HARRY’s plate.
HARRY: Chanel. Coco Mademoiselle.
RACHEL: Yes. Well done.
CHRIS and RACHEL are finished collecting the plates.
CHRIS: OK, your main course’ll be along in a minute.
DIMITRI: What’s the main course?
CHRIS goes to answer, and Guy has to cut him off.
CHRIS: It’s a –
GUY: SURPRISE! Still a surprise, remember.
CHRIS: Yes, of course, sorry.
JAMES: Don’t mind them – all a bit high-spirited.
ED: ’Bye Rachel.
CHRIS and RACHEL leave. Guy gets up to close the door behind them.
GUY: Nice try, Dims.
DIMITRI: I’m nearly coming in my pants from the expectation.
JAMES stands up.
JAMES: Right chaps – Banbury Toasts, while we’re still upright.
ED: That girl is tasty.
GUY: No chance mate, if Villiers saw her first.
The others all stand.
ED: He’s already had a blowjob today.
JAMES points at HARRY, accusingly.
JAMES: Yeah, and scrunching Harry Villiers for sharking the waitress.
The boys jeer. HARRY holds up his glass.
TOBY: No sharking at the table.
HARRY: The delectable waitress!
The boys laugh and chant ‘scrunch scrunch scrunch’ as HARRY drains his glass and then refills it.
ED: Legend.
JAMES raises his glass.
JAMES: OK, our next toast – which is to the many, many great men who have sat around this table before us. Gentlemen, raise your glasses to the dead members.
ALL: Dead members.
They down their drinks, then fill the glasses again.
DIMITRI: You’ve got a dead member, haven’t you, Leighton? Or is it just in a coma ’cause you haven’t used it in so long?
JAMES: Only ’cause your mum’s been out of the country.
GUY: No shortage of penis-action once the prozzer gets here.
GEORGE: Anyone got some WD40 for Leighton?
JAMES: Once the what gets here?
HARRY: The prozzer.
JAMES: You booked a prozzer?
HARRY: Ho yus.
JAMES: Fucking hell.
HUGO: What’s he done?
MILES: I think he’s hired a prostitute.
HARRY: Thought we could stick her under the table, go round one at a time.
ALISTAIR: What time’s she booked?
HARRY: Half past soon.
ED: That is savage.
HUGO: Oh Villiers, that’s so you.
HARRY: She’ll be under the table. I asked her to bring a false moustache for when she does you.
JAMES: Mate, are you serious? This is –
TOBY: This is fucking awesome!
GEORGE: Oh my wow.
JAMES: We’re supposed to be keeping it –
HARRY: What?
JAMES: Michael Bingham – I promised him we’d, you know, rein it in a bit.
HARRY: There’s precedent – acceptable in the 80s.
ED: Who’s Michael Bingham?
GUY: Ex-member. Keeps an eye on stuff.
ALISTAIR: God, the fucking alumniati. You’ve had your moment, guys.
JAMES: Yeah, but –
GUY: Don’t be a pussy, Leighton.
HUGO: Sure it’s not too late to cancel.
HARRY: Reclaiming our heritage, isn’t it?
ALISTAIR: The evening we deserve, you said.
DIMITRI: Yeah, back in business, carpe some fucking diem.
ALISTAIR: Look, Bingham’s never going to know, is he?
HARRY: It’s a discreet agency, I did check. Who’s going to find out? Are we celebrating or are we celebrating?
DIMITRI: I’m celebrating.
JAMES: OK, OK.
Fuck it, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
There’s a general eruption of jollity.
HARRY: Excellent.
GEORGE: Huge – Tyrwhitt – Hugo – (To JAMES.) Is Hugo doing the Members Ex –
JAMES: Yeah. Guys – guys – listen up –
Time for the most important toast of all, the Members Extant. Hugo Fraser-Tyrwhitt.
MILES: We’re toasting ourselves?
The others applaud. HUGO bows, enjoying the attention.
HUGO: Thank you, thank you. So to put this in context for our newest initiates, back in the very olden days the pause between courses was typically taken up with the recital of poetry, a habit we’ve rather fallen out of –
ED: Poetry?
HUGO: Wrote it themselves, yes. Imagine a sonnet written by Villiers.
HARRY: ‘Shall I compare thee to a bummer’s arse?’
HUGO: If Villiers had any wit.
HARRY: Just do the toast.
HUGO: On this of all nights, I see no reason why we shouldn’t take a turn for the iambic, since we’re dwelling on past as well as future glories. Permit me, then, to summon the spirit of another age, one of wine, women and so-liloquy.
HUGO assumes a dramatic pose and begins to recite his poem.
Once more unto the drink, dear friends, once more,
And give a roar for all our English drunk.
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As Milo’s sweetness and sobriety;
But when the call to drink rings in his ears,
He’ll imitate the action of the Tubester;
Stiffen the member, summon up the sword,
Disguise understanding with hard-drinking rage;
Then look like Guy with terrible aspect;
Burning eyes ’neath the wiggage of the head
Like the George Balfour; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as does a Grecian frown
O’erhang and jutty poor Dimitri’s face,
Steeped in the wild and wanton Ouzo.
Now be like Ryle and stretch the gullet wide,
Be Harry the brave, and hold up every sabre
To its full height. On, on you noblest Riot,
Whose blood is fet from vodka 80 proof!
Drinkers that, like so many Old Etonians
Have in these parts from morn till even drank,
Then drank some more for love of Leighton.
Dishonour not dead members; now attest
That Knights like our Lord Riot did beget you.
Be envy now to clubs of weaker blood,
And teach them how to drink. The game’s afoot!
Pour out the spirits, and with glasses charged
Cry, ‘God for Harry, Dimitri and Alistair, James, Toby,
Edward, Milo, Hugo, Guy and George!’
HUGO ends on a roar and the others break into rapturous applause. HUGO has a big drink, feeling great about himself. He sits down and the others slap him on the back, joyfully.
The door is flung open and CHRIS comes in wheeling a trolley, on top of which is a huge roast.
GUY: Whoa – whoa – Gentlemen, pray silence for the main course.
GEORGE: Oh my Christ. What is that?
ALISTAIR: It’s magnificent.
CHRIS: Bit of a monster, isn’t it?
JAMES: What is it?
GUY: What you’re looking at, gentlemen, is a ten-bird roast.
CHRIS: Actually, it’s a –
GUY: Shake my hand.
CHRIS shakes Guy’s hand.
Good man.
CHRIS: Thanks. Thank you.
DIMITRI: It�
��s not grotesque at all.
GEORGE: It’s amazing, Dims. Bellingfield – it’s amazing.
ED: What’s a ten-bird roast?
GUY: Exactly what it says – a bird inside a bird inside a bird inside a bird. Etc.
HARRY: Roasted.
HUGO: It’s what they ate at the first ever dinner.
GUY: Exactly – heritage.
HUGO: (To MILES.) What d’you think?
MILES: Pretty impressive.
GUY: ’Cause there’s ten of us, you see. It’s one for all – i.e. one bird for each of us – and all for one – i.e. those ten birds bound together in the heat of the fire – the fire being our recent adversity – bound together in the heat of the adversity-fire into one entity. I.e. the club.
DIMITRI: Impeccable logic there.
What birds is it?
GUY: Well, chicken for a start –
GEORGE: Must be something tiny in the middle or you’ve nowhere to go.
ED: Quail maybe?
HARRY: Poussin?
GUY: (To CHRIS.) Is it poussin?
CHRIS: Woodcock, isn’t it?
GEORGE: Woodcock are tiny. Bugger to shoot at.
JAMES: Inside a swan or something?
GUY: It’s illegal to eat swans. I did check.
GEORGE: Belong to the queen.
DIMITRI: Seriously, what birds is it?
CHRIS: Biggest turkey we could find, and the others are all inside.
ALISTAIR: So what, you just stuff them inside each other?
DIMITRI: Tell me what the other birds are.
CHRIS: Some of them get de-boned.
GEORGE: Yeah, they’d have to be.
DIMITRI: I think we’d all like to know, Guy.
GUY: God, OK, it’s um, (He counts on his fingers.) Poussin,
MILES: No, woodcock.
GUY: Woodcock. Duck, chicken, goose, grouse, quail, partridge, turkey um um. Pigeon, pheasant, that’s ten.
CHRIS: It’s not a grouse, it’s a guinea fowl.
GEORGE: Ah, guinea fowl, yes.
CHRIS: Except we didn’t –
GEORGE: So they’re de-boned and then wrapped around each other, are they?
TOBY: Spatchcock!
GEORGE: What, mate?
TOBY: No, just that, really.
ALISTAIR: Bet the Stoics never had a ten-bird roast.
HARRY: It really is incredible. (To Guy.) Well done, mate.
CHRIS: Took two of us to get it sewn up and in the oven.
HUGO: Hats off, Guy, that’s no Chicken Kiev.
CHRIS: (To GUY.) Now I know you specified ten birds –
TOBY: When we cut through it, will it be like rings of meat?
GUY: You’ll see. Alright, is it, Leighton?
JAMES: Bravo, mate. Good work.
CHRIS looks around at the others.
CHRIS: OK, who’s going to carve?
HARRY stands up.
HARRY: How about I do it…
He takes the ornamental sabre and draws it with a flourish.
…with this?
The boys clap, cheer and bang the table.
Blackout.
SCENE 4
Later. The boys are finishing their main courses, with the remains of the enormous roast on the table in front of them.
The atmosphere is considerably more subdued than before.
TOBY lifts his plate and smashes it down on the edge of the table.
TOBY: Nine fucking birds.
GUY: Yeah, OK, but. It’s still nine birds.
TOBY: How is a nine-bird roast awesome?
GEORGE: I think it’s delicious.
MILES: You’re eating giblets.
GEORGE: Best bit. Delicious.
ALISTAIR: Did he tell you it was only nine birds?
GUY: No, he didn’t.
ALISTAIR: Then we should complain.
MILES: Are we sure we counted right?
HUGO: Balf knows his game.
GEORGE: Definitely nine birds there.
ED: Unless there was, like, a blue tit smashed up in the stuffing.
ALISTAIR: If he made me eat a blue tit, I’ll fucking sue.
JAMES: Come on – it was totally cool.
DIMITRI: Well, 90% cool.
GUY: What do they eat in the Lebanon? Squirrel kebab?
DIMITRI: We’re not going to the fucking –
JAMES: What’s this?
DIMITRI: Nothing, it’s –
JAMES: We’re going to the Lebanon?
TOBY: Nine birds!
DIMITRI: I mean, let me get this right, Bell-end – if the birds are us, actually we’re saying one of us doesn’t exist, so who’s the invisible guinea fowl, who’s that supposed to be?
GUY: OK, so maybe the metaphor’s gone a bit wobbly, but –
DIMITRI: Mate, without the metaphor, it’s just a pile of meat.
JAMES: It’s seriously not that big a thing.
DIMITRI: It sort of is, though. Bellingfield planned this extremely carefully – ten birds, one for each of us – what that man’s done is pissed all over Bell-end’s beautiful plan.
He’s basically made Guy’s best idea ever into something pretty disappointing.
GUY: Not without help.
DIMITRI: The linchpin of Guy’s whole game plan gone to fuck.
ALISTAIR: It’s not just the metaphor, it’s the principle.
GEORGE: Hey, what’s pudding going to be?
MILES: A ten-cake cake.
ALISTAIR: We paid for a ten-bird roast, we didn’t get a ten-bird roast.
GEORGE: Yeah, Bellingfield – what’s for pudding? Is it a ten-cake cake?
JAMES: It fed all of us.
GUY: No, pudding’s just – Just normal.
JAMES: There was fuckloads of meat – I mean look at all the leftovers. They’ll be doing game pie for weeks off that.
ED: Maybe like, ten trifles in a big tower.
HARRY: Be nine trifles, wouldn’t it?
ALISTAIR: And we’re happy with ‘good enough’, are we?
JAMES: That was a fucking decent roast, it was –
GUY: It was a fucking decent roast, thank you.
ALISTAIR: Get the landlord in, get him to explain himself.
GEORGE: Guys, let’s not have a fight about –
DIMITRI: I’m happy to speak to the guy if you want me to.
JAMES: If that’s what you want to do, fine.
HUGO: No no no no, it should be the president who complains.
DIMITRI: Really, I can do it – Leighton clearly doesn’t care.
HUGO: Doesn’t have the gravitas if it isn’t the president.
JAMES: Guys, I do care, course I care. It’s our night.
ALISTAIR: Well is it or isn’t it?
HUGO: If it’s our night, we should get our way.
GUY: Oh god it’s just a pile of meat.
TOBY: Gauntlet’s down, mate.
JAMES: Fine – fine. Picking up the gauntlet. If that’s what the evening needs.
DIMITRI: Next time he comes in, yeah?
ED: When they bring in the ten-cake cake.
JAMES salutes.
JAMES: For King and Country.
HUGO: Oh Captain my Captain!
JAMES: Brigadier, thank you.
HUGO: The First Grievance Regiment.
DIMITRI: How about something to help you over the top?
JAMES: What?
DIMITRI: You know, get on the snow patrol.
TOBY: Weaponise!
HARRY: Drop the C-bomb.
ED: What are they talking about?
GUY: Coke, you douche.
JAMES: Yeah yeah – George?
GEORGE: Right, yeah, um. Yeah, about that –
JAMES: What?
GEORGE: Yeah, um. Bit of a problem with the old, um, procurement actually.
TOBY: Oh what?
JAMES: It’s your turn, mate –
GEORGE: Yeah, well I tried, OK. Asked around at college, which in itself was a bit of a – managed to find
this chap in the first year, yeah, who knows this chap he gets it off in Blackbird Leys but he just passed on the number, said I had to get it myself,
ALISTAIR: But you didn’t get it?
GEORGE: Look I had to leave the beagling dinner early, yeah, which really isn’t the done thing, then I had to wait on this bench for ages and it was bloody cold, all these people staring at me –
DIMITRI: Mate, you didn’t go to Blackbird Leys in your plus fours, did you?
HUGO: Foolhardy.
GEORGE: Yeah well I did feel a bit –
TOBY: Of a knobber?
GEORGE: Bit conspicuous.
Anyway, this quite smelly gentleman comes up and starts chatting to me and I assume it’s my chap because he looks like a drug dealer –
DIMITRI: Drug dealers just look normal, mate.
GEORGE: Yes well I know that now, so –
So I’m really not sure of the protocol but eventually he cuts to the chase at which point I realise he’s not the chap I’m supposed to meet, he’s actually a sort of a sort of a –
GUY: Tramp.
GEORGE: You know, a homeless. So we’re chatting and he –
DIMITRI: Does this story have an end or just a middle?
GEORGE: I got mugged, OK?
HUGO: Oh mate.
GEORGE: Asks me if I’ve got any change. And I said. I said ‘I’m really sorry, I’ve only got notes’.
DIMITRI: ‘I’ve only got notes’? What did you expect?
GEORGE: Yes, OK, yes. Anyway, he pulls a knife and demands I give him my – My wallet.
Then the actual dealer actually turns up and yes, Dims, he did look perfectly normal, then when I told him I hadn’t got the money anymore he looked very cross and did some shouting and then I did some running away.
ALISTAIR: So you fucked it.
TOBY: Fuck.
GUY: No sniffy.
HUGO: Chaps, George got mugged.
HARRY: Has anyone got some? Wallets out.
ALISTAIR, HARRY and TOBY all take out their wallets and check them, pulling out receipts etc.
Dims?
DIMITRI: Riot Club’s my night off from being powder-provider, mate.
HARRY sees something in ALISTAIR’s wallet.
HARRY: What’s that?
ALISTAIR: Gum wrapper. What’ve you got, Tubes?
TOBY: No, nothing.
DIMITRI: Fuck’s sake.
GEORGE: Well, you know, if you give me the job when I’ve never even –
JAMES: Everyone takes a turn, mate.
GUY grabs a foil-wrapped condom out of TOBY’s hand.
GUY: Mate, how old is this?
GEORGE: I’m very sorry, chaps. Mea maxima culpa.
HARRY: (To GUY.) What is it?
GUY: Dusty johnny.
HUGO: Delightful.
DIMITRI: What do we do, Leighton?
