by Laura Wade
HARRY: Except they don’t want the cream tea anymore, reckon the buns are ‘too expensive’. Everything’s about value for money, grubby little voucher schemes.
GUY: Fucking recession, isn’t it?
ALISTAIR: Happening before the recession, mate. Blair’s lot, giving the kids too much pocket money,
HARRY: ‘Because you’re worth it’.
DIMITRI: Yawn.
HUGO: (Turning to JAMES.) Why should Ed’s family have to put up with their house getting turned into a theme park?
JAMES: Because otherwise they couldn’t afford to get the roof fixed.
GEORGE: Always the roof.
ED: Roof wouldn’t be a problem if they hadn’t taken all the money when grandpa died.
JAMES: Yeah, OK, but you know, your parents made a decision, didn’t they, to open the –
GEORGE: Our roof’s got holes you could fire a cow through.
DIMITRI: Bored of the roof now!
JAMES: I’m just saying your family benefited from –
HARRY: Yeah, till they stopped coming.
ALISTAIR: And we know why they stopped, don’t we? ’Cause they spent all the money on all this shiny new shit – the plasma telly, 95% mortgage. Don’t understand why they’re not just born with it, why it doesn’t just get handed to them – and they think people like us just laze around all day snorting caviar I mean it’s all built on envy, isn’t it?
JAMES: OK, sure, ‘mistakes were made’, but our lot are in power now, so –
GUY: True dat.
ALISTAIR: We’re not in power.
GUY: They’ll get a majority next time, my uncle says –
ALISTAIR: Does it feel like we’re in power? Or does it feel like that fucking landlord, like people like him still get to shit wherever they want and we’re just trailing round with a poop scoop?
TOBY: The fucking landlord!
ALISTAIR: These people have gashed up the world for us. We’re all going to come out of college –
HARRY: Which we worked fucking hard for, don’t forget –
ALISTAIR: Yeah, and there’s going to be no jobs for us because of people like him.
TOBY: I mean these people – these people –
JAMES: OK fine. Everyone’s suffering.
ED: My brother’s been made redundant.
HARRY: Monters?
JAMES: Where was he, Merrill?
ED: Goldman.
GEORGE: But your brother’s a legend.
ED: Legend as in used to have a job, now doesn’t.
DIMITRI: He was only there five minutes.
ED: Last in, first out, isn’t it?
DIMITRI: So what’s he doing?
ED: Says he’s going to buy an Airstream – one of those big old silver caravan things?
DIMITRI: Yeah yeah.
ED: Start a business doing street food at festivals and shit.
You know, really good burgers?
The boys think about this for a moment.
ALISTAIR: I mean, fuck.
GUY: The fucking landlord.
HARRY: We should totally do something to fuck him up.
TOBY: The trouble is, right, the trouble is that these people – they’ve got no fucking – I mean, have they? What a load of fucking – fuck it makes me angry –
JAMES: I just don’t understand how you’re pinning Monters’ redundancy on the landlord of this pub.
HARRY: He took our prozzer away, we should get him back.
ALISTAIR: Not just him, people like him.
GUY: Get the daughter back in.
ALISTAIR: I mean, when you trace it back, yeah?
TOBY: What I mean is – ’scuse me –
TOBY starts to ramble incoherently, a few phrases audible here and there.
JAMES: Yeah, just a bit of a hardline position, isn’t –
ALISTAIR: OK. Fuck. Let’s join it up, shall we?
So, OK, they want all the stuff, they want the massive fuckoff plasma-screen telly, so they all borrow more money than they can ever afford to pay back.
TOBY: And that cunt of a girl going all ‘Oh Toby’ –
ALISTAIR: They want a big house, they want a fat German car. So they go on a massive spree with this fairy money, they’re obsessed with upward mobility but they’re not prepared to put the work in, it’s all credit cards.
TOBY: And then I fucking said –
ALISTAIR: Then when the great New Labour shop in the sky goes up in flames ’cause it turns out there isn’t an endless supply of toys and sweets, there can’t be –
TOBY: …got pooled, right, should have gone Christ Church but no, fucking chav quota…
ALISTAIR: They vote us back in to sort it all out, make it all go away.
JAMES: Yeah, OK, ’cause we’re good at solving –
ALISTAIR: Haven’t finished. But then they’re all –
TOBY: Because I’ve got the right, right –
ALISTAIR: But then they’re all like ‘oh no, but don’t do it like that’, they don’t –
TOBY: My human rights –
ALISTAIR: Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to – someone put Tubes to bed, yeah?
ED: Yeah yeah. Mate?
TOBY: Hello.
ED: Alright mate – how about a little sleep?
TOBY bangs his fist on the table, nearly upsetting his pudding bowl.
TOBY: No sleeping at the table!
JAMES: Yeah, put him on the window seat or something.
ED: Come on, mate, let’s go and have a sit by the window.
TOBY: OK.
ED leads TOBY over to the window seat, TOBY still muttering to himself.
ED: Nice bit of Bedfordshire.
ALISTAIR: So they call us in –
TOBY: The Duke of Bedfordshire!
TOBY stumbles and falls, stopping ALISTAIR.
ALISTAIR: Jesus.
HARRY and MILES stand up to help ED.
HARRY: That’s it, mate.
ED: Come on, sleepy-byes, OK?
TOBY: OK. Love you.
HARRY and MILES get TOBY to the window and help to settle him on the seat. GEORGE puts his hand up.
GEORGE: Uh, guys, while we’re paused – does anyone not want their pudding?
TOBY puts his head down on the windowsill in front of him and goes to sleep.
GUY: Have Toby’s one.
ED, HARRY and MILES make their way back to the table.
GEORGE: Super – chuck it over.
The pudding is passed over to GEORGE.
Yummy.
Sorry Ryle, you were saying – there’s a sweet shop –
ALISTAIR: No, they call us in to sort it out ’cause yes, we’re good at that. But they don’t want to give up the big house and the massive telly, ’cause now they’ve got used to the idea that they’re worth it.
It’s an impossible job, they’ve fucked us in every hole so I mean in what sense are we in power, Leighton?
DIMITRI: OK, looking a lot like a conversation about politics here, can I just say?
GUY: State of the world, mate. Everything’s political.
DIMITRI: I’m here for the wine and the jokes.
GUY: ’Cause you’ve got no heritage, that’s why.
DIMITRI: I’ve got a boatload of –
GUY: No, mate, you’ve got a boat.
GEORGE: He’s right, should be scrunching for talking about politics –
ALISTAIR: It’s not your fault you can’t see it, mate. People get used to being shat on, don’t they?
JAMES: Oh come on, for fuck’s sake – we’re not being –
ALISTAIR: Seriously, mate. ‘Them and us’ all over again.
GEORGE: No no no, it’s not it’s not at all. It’s not them and us.
You know, at home, we’re all suffering – my family, the people who work on the estate, the chaps in the village, in the pub, yeah? We’ve got a responsibility to help each other. And, you know, they look to people like us, to guide them, to –
ALISTAIR: They don’t
want to be guided.
GEORGE: Yes they do.
ALISTAIR: They don’t like us.
GUY: They hate us.
GEORGE: I just had a very nice drink with –
ALISTAIR: Who bought the drinks?
GEORGE: Sorry?
ALISTAIR: Who paid for the drinks?
GEORGE: I did.
ALISTAIR: Yeah. You think Farmer Barleymow and his mates aren’t laughing at you out there right now? Dr Doolittle could talk to the animals, it didn’t mean they wanted to be mates with him.
George, they hate you.
GEORGE looks down at the table, takes a drink.
MILES: Haven’t we just got to find a way to co-exist? With people who are different.
I mean when I was in Malawi, right, there were people who had nothing, literally nothing, and they didn’t –
ALISTAIR: I’m not talking about proper poor people, like Africa or whatever.
DIMITRI: Bored of Africa!
HUGO: What about Brixton?
MILES: What? Shut up.
ALISTAIR: What’s this?
MILES: It’s got nothing to do with it.
HUGO: You had four stitches.
MILES: Mate –
HUGO: Miles got attacked. Brixton one night.
HARRY: What were you doing in Brixton?
MILES: Went to a gig. People get mugged, it doesn’t mean –
HUGO: I don’t think it was a group of disgruntled Wykehamists.
MILES: It wasn’t ’cause of being –
HUGO: What, you think they can’t tell? You think you blend in?
It’s not like they’re trying to co-exist with us, is it?
GUY: How did it all get so shit?
ED: The bloody landlord!
ALISTAIR: No, mate. It’s us. We let it happen.
ED: Did we?
ALISTAIR: We apologised. We apologise for being who we are, appropriate their values, pretend we agree with their fucking prudish –
Like Leighton, hanging out the back of that landlord all night – ‘I’m so everso sorry’ –
GUY: Yeah, ‘you won’t hear another squeak out of us’.
JAMES: Mate –
ALISTAIR: We do it to ourselves, yeah – all this shit about respecting other people’s cultures – what, nicking trainers ’cause you can’t be arsed to get a job and then calling it legitimate social protest? Fuck off.
How about you respect my culture?
JAMES: Well, OK, because –
GUY: ’Cause we’ve looked after this country for – I mean, we haven’t but –
ALISTAIR: Our families, families like ours, hundreds of years –
HARRY: Uniquely qualified.
ALISTAIR: Yes.
ED: Why do we have to pretend we think everyone’s the same?
GUY: We should stop grubbing up to them,
HUGO: Down to them.
GUY: asking if we can join the party.
HARRY: Yeah, apologising for who our families are, what we’ve come from.
ALISTAIR: ’Cause it’s only going to get worse. More discontent, more legitimate protest.
DIMITRI: Fuck, can somebody pass me that sword so I can stab my ears off?
Yeah fine, the country’s gone to shit – d’you know what I think we should do? Get out of town for the night, get wasted.
DIMITRI stands up.
Have a look under your placemats, chaps – little something for each of you.
The boys lift up their placemats and pull out an unfamiliar looking bank note, which they examine.
You know, what’s this club for? What are we doing getting all misty about how hard done by we are? Let’s fuck off somewhere, take copious party drugs, drink ourselves to oblivion and raise merry hell.
MILES: One Thousand. (Reading.) Eitt Pusund Kronur.
GUY: Eat poos and what?
DIMITRI: Icelandic. We’re going to Reykjavik.
ALISTAIR: Iceland.
DIMITRI: Gather ye rosebuds, mate.
ED: Reykjavik.
GUY: What are we doing, fiscal irresponsibility tour?
DIMITRI: It’s an all-night party city. I’ve been.
ALISTAIR: Persuade them into the Euro?
JAMES: We’re going tonight?
DIMITRI: Yes, come on!
One thousand kronur – that’s about a fiver in Icelandic money – not very much, but take it as a provocation, see how many vodkas you can get for it. And this –
He pulls out a wad of english money and flamboyantly attaches it to the table with Lord Riot’s sabre.
Is for the first man to piss on an ice sculpture.
Silence.
GEORGE: Wouldn’t that just make it melt?
DIMITRI: Chaps, what’s wrong with you? Come on.
GUY: I don’t know, mate. All looks a bit flashy.
DIMITRI: Predictable response from Bell-end.
ALISTAIR: D’you really think that’ll solve it?
DIMITRI: I’m not being –
HUGO: Waving money about again, Dims.
GUY: All he’s got left, isn’t it?
HUGO: Fiddling while Athens burns.
GUY: ’Cause he hasn’t got a country anymore, so –
DIMITRI: I’m a British Citizen.
GUY: Wearing a cravat doesn’t make you British, mate.
This Mr Toad shit – who the fuck are you fooling?
DIMITRI: Fuck you, Bellingfield. Come on, chaps.
TOBY emits a strangled moan and twitches slightly.
TOBY: Wuuuugh
The others notice but carry on.
ALISTAIR: Dims, the trouble with going to Iceland is we’d have to come back.
Another noise from TOBY, whose body suddenly twitches and writhes.
TOBY: Mnnnnngh
ALISTAIR: Fuck’s sake, Tubes.
HUGO: You OK, Maitland?
GEORGE: Better out than in, mate.
TOBY stands up and staggers backwards into the room, still facing the window.
MILES: Whoa, careful mate –
HUGO: Tubes, what you –
TOBY turns around to face the boys. But it’s not TOBY anymore.
The boys sit up in fright.
TOBY appears to have morphed into an eighteenth century libertine. His voice comes out a little strangled at first, but commanding.
LORD RIOT: Gentlemen!
He looks around at the boys. Those at the end of the table nearest to him make a dash for the other end, cowering behind JAMES.
Gentlemen of the Riot Club!
Why suffer ye this plague of peasants? Ye stand there wronged yet unequal to a fight – where are your wigs, men?
ED: Where the fuck is Toby?
JAMES: Maitland, stop being a –
HUGO: Mate, look at him – it’s not Maitland.
DIMITRI: What the fuck?
HUGO: I think it’s Lord Riot.
GUY: I think we’re supposed to speak to it.
LORD RIOT: It?
GUY: Him, sorry, him.
JAMES: Hugo?
HUGO: Why me?
GEORGE: He might do verse.
HUGO: Right, alright. Um. Are you. Lord Riot?
LORD RIOT: Ye should know me by now.
HUGO: No, yes, of course. My lord.
LORD RIOT: What appalling inaction is this? I find ye sitting like ladies at a bun shop, consumed by petty skirmishes.
HUGO: Yes. Yes, sorry about that.
LORD RIOT: Do not weep into your syllabub, boys, with tales of how the world has bruised you. Is this the purpose for which my club was founded? A licking of wounds?
HUGO: No, um, probably –
LORD RIOT: Leave off quacking and listen.
HUGO: Right. Sorry.
LORD RIOT: I have been at every dinner since the club’s inception, whether or not my presence was remarked. Rarely have I had great enough cause to intervene and it pains me to do so now, but intervene I must.
JAMES: Um, should we be sitting down?
&
nbsp; LORD RIOT: Why must you brawl among yourselves? Ye are the finest of men, of all men – your fight is not with each other.
I know you feel your country running away from you, intent on mediocrity, garbling every morsel of magnificence into an inglorious gruel.
But we have seen worse, boys, we have seen worse, and without whining. When our French cousins were guillotined, did we weep into our pudding or did we stand our ground? Under your last queen, when legions of oily industrialists built machines they thought would make us obsolete, did we not show them our mettle?
Ninety years since, when the common man downed tools in peevish discontent, your counterparts stepped into the breach, uncomplaining. Drove omnibuses! Succeeded in putting the country back on its feet in but nine days.
The landlords of this world have thrown every kind of ordure at us down the years – are we not still here? Do you think I would let these merchants and hustlers quench my every fire with scorn and outrage? Are they the masters now, and you the servants?
Aye, boys, your times are bleak, but let them not divide you. You are the brightest, the boldest, the best. You think the true purpose of the club is simply the making of merriment? A place in which you hide? Never! The world wants you, boys – though it may not yet know it – it wants you, and it wants you to lead.
ALISTAIR: OK, so what should we do?
LORD RIOT: If you do not like what they have built, tear it down. Where is your wit, where your imagination? Tear it down and build something better – they will thank you in the end.
ALISTAIR: Right, so how do we –
There’s a knock at the door, at which LORDRIOT freezes, then droops, deflates.
HUGO: Shit.
The door opens a crack.
ALISTAIR: Wait!
The boys cluster around LORD RIOT. RACHEL comes in.
HARRY: Shit – fuck –
ALISTAIR: I said wait –
The boys try to hide LORD RIOT behind them, masking RACHEL’s view.
HARRY: Rachel! Why-eye!
RACHEL: Um. Yes. Howay the lads.
Sorry, I need to clear the –
JAMES: Yes, lovely, thank you.
RACHEL: What have you –
Who’ve you got –
HARRY: Who’ve we what?
JAMES gestures to the table.
JAMES: Please, go ahead and –
RACHEL: Have you got someone behind –
JAMES: What? No, nothing –
RACHEL: You’ve got that woman, haven’t you, look, you can’t bring a –
RACHEL heads confidently towards the cluster of boys.
HARRY: No no no, it’s –
