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  ALISTAIR: ‘Your Private Dining Experience at the Bull’s Head Inn, Kidsbury’

  HARRY: Gosh, are we having an experience?

  ALISTAIR: ‘Guests are invited to choose from three elegant three-course menus.’

  HARRY charges towards ALISTAIR.

  HARRY: Let’s have a look.

  ALISTAIR holds the folder away so that HARRY can’t see it.

  ALISTAIR: So the game is – Which One Did Leighton Pick?

  HUGO: What do we call it, ‘Meal of Fortune’?

  MILES: ‘Meal or no Meal’.

  HUGO: Excellent.

  ALISTAIR: Here, you be trolley dolly.

  ALISTAIR holds the folder towards MILES.

  ED: I’ll do it.

  HUGO: Go on, Miles.

  MILES comes forward and takes the folder from ALISTAIR.

  ALISTAIR: Good man.

  MILES: Um, OK, Menu A: ALISTAIR: Just a bit of fun till the boss-man gets here.

  MILES: Pâté Maison with melba toast, followed by breast of chicken wrapped in bacon with dauphinoise potatoes and a tarragon jus then seasonal berry pavlova.

  HARRY: It’s the 80s retro menu!

  ALISTAIR: We are not having chicken.

  HARRY: What’s menu B?

  GUY comes in, singing LMFAO: ‘Party Rock Anthem’

  GUY: Party Rock is in the house tonight / Everybody just have a good time / And we gone make you lose your mind –

  TOBY: Bellingfield!

  HARRY: Bell-end!

  GUY: We just wanna see ya SHAKE THAT –

  GUY does a robotic dance, beeping the tune, but gets distracted after a few moves:

  Where the fuck is Leighton?

  ED: Not here yet.

  GUY: Sorry I’m late, chaps. Stuff to do.

  HARRY: Didn’t miss you.

  GUY: Harsh.

  What we doing?

  HUGO: Which menu did Leighton pick.

  ALISTAIR: Lovely assistant Milo – Menu B?

  MILES: Um, tomato gazpacho,

  ED: Cold soup. So wrong.

  HARRY: Wait wait – Al, isn’t gazpacho that red stuff you dip nachos in?

  ALISTAIR: No, mate, you’re thinking of salsa.

  HARRY: Salsa? Why, isn’t that a sort of dance?

  ALISTAIR: I don’t know, you’ll have to ask Bellingfield.

  GUY: Fuck right off.

  TOBY: What’s this?

  HARRY: Lauren’s got Guy going to Salsa class.

  TOBY: Awesome.

  HUGO: Very sensual.

  GUY: All in the hips, mate, all about the hips.

  Anyway, you don’t need to –

  TOBY: Menu B! Come on!

  MILES: Yeah, so gazpacho, then Assiette of Denby Farm pork. Three ways.

  HARRY: ‘Three way pork’? That is filthy.

  ALISTAIR: What’s pudding?

  ALISTAIR picks up HARRY’s fencing foil and starts to mime fighting with it.

  MILES: Chocolate Fondant.

  ALISTAIR: Risky. Like it.

  HUGO: Menu C?

  MILES: Um, carpaccio of beef with parmesan shavings and a rocket salad.

  TOBY: What’s carpaccio mean?

  HUGO: Raw beef, very thinly sliced.

  HARRY: That’s so gay.

  MILES: Then main course is Pan-fried Sea Bream with fennel salad and new potatoes.

  HARRY: Gay!

  ALISTAIR: Pudding?

  MILES: Mango crème brulee.

  HUGO: Burnt cream.

  HARRY: So gay. Menu C is the gay menu.

  ALISTAIR: So, fingers on buzzers, which one do we think Leighton picked?

  MILES: Could have done a mash-up.

  GUY: Leighton hasn’t picked, though, so the game doesn’t really –

  ALISTAIR: What?

  GUY comes to MILES and takes the menu out of his hands.

  GUY: Well, um – fact is, Leighton’s delegated the menu this time.

  HUGO: Delegated?

  GUY: You know, he’s got a lot on. OUCA, rowing practice, applying for int –

  ALISTAIR/HARRY: Internships.

  HARRY: He’s the Interninator.

  GUY: Chap needed a hand so he uh, he asked me to take care of it.

  ALISTAIR: You?

  GUY: Yeah.

  HUGO: So which one did you pick?

  GUY: I didn’t –

  HARRY: You didn’t pick and Leighton didn’t pick – what?

  GUY: No, it’s. Special night, isn’t it? Calls for a bespoke approach.

  HUGO: It’s not one of these menus?

  GUY: It’s based on one of those menus.

  HARRY: Which one?

  GUY: Well it doesn’t matter, ’cause it –

  ALISTAIR: Does matter – which one?

  GUY: OK, menu A.

  The others groan.

  Chaps chaps chaps I’ve customised it, so –

  HUGO: How?

  GUY: Everything’s gone a bit more Riot Club.

  HUGO: How d’you make chicken a bit more Riot Club?

  GUY: Well I don’t want to tell you because – just trust me, it’s going to be awesome.

  HUGO: How d’you customise a pavlova?

  MILES: Sparklers?

  GUY: OK, look, if I tell you about pudding can we put the menus away?

  ALISTAIR: Course, yeah.

  GUY: So, OK, so it says seasonal berry pavlova on the menu – but we’re not from the 80s, yeah, we’re from the now, so – so I look at that and think OK, work with it, make it celebrate our awesomeness, our back-in-business-ness – ness.

  TOBY: So?

  GUY: So how d’you make an Eton Mess?

  HARRY: Tell him he only got into Bristol?

  GUY: OK, Eton Mess is basically you get a pavlova and then you smash it up with a hammer, right? Far as I’m concerned that’s the Riot Club in a pudding.

  The boys think.

  Just wait till you see the main course.

  CHRIS opens the door to usher someone in.

  CHRIS: Just through here.

  DIMITRI strides into the room, wearing Riot Club tails, plus a scarf and a vintage-style leather helmet and goggles. It’s not immediately obvious to the others who he is. He looks like a cross between Mr Toad and Biggles.

  TOBY: What the f –

  DIMITRI puts his goggles on top of his head with a flourish, then stands with his hands on his hips.

  DIMITRI: Evening chaps.

  The boys laugh, recognising him. Guy goes over to shake his hand / man-hug him.

  GUY: Dims, mate.

  HUGO: Dimitri, you absolute –

  DIMITRI: Good to be back, boys. Good to be back.

  GUY puts the menu folder back in a drawer.

  CHRIS: Um lads, is that smoke I can smell?

  ALISTAIR: Smoke? I don’t think so. Can anybody smell smoke?

  HARRY: Maybe someone outside, I don’t know.

  CHRIS: If you want to smoke there’s a patio at the back.

  TOBY: Can’t we just blow it out the window?

  HARRY: Tubes.

  CHRIS: No sign of Mr Leighton yet?

  DIMITRI: James isn’t here?

  HARRY: He hasn’t called you?

  CHRIS: Nope, nothing. Hoping we’d get started on time, I’ve got another big party in the restaurant, Ruby Wedding.

  GUY: Can I have a word, actually?

  CHRIS: Um, yes.

  GUY: Guy Bellingfield – we spoke on the phone about the food.

  CHRIS: Yes, of course.

  GUY: Just wanted a quick word about how you’re going to serve it.

  CHRIS: Yes, I thought we’d bring it in on a –

  GUY: Out of earshot? – so sorry, don’t want to spoil the surprise.

  CHRIS: Right, course.

  CHRIS and Guy leave the room.

  ALISTAIR: Seriously, why would James delegate the food to Bell-end? All he ate at school was potatoes.

  HARRY’s phone rings.

  DIMITRI: With ketc
hup.

  HARRY answers the phone.

  HARRY: Hello? Hi, yeah.

  ALISTAIR: The man has no palate.

  HARRY: No, we’re here. No, not the Bull. The Bull’s Head. Kidsbury, yeah.

  HARRY leaves the room, putting a cigarette in his mouth as he goes.

  ED: Thought we weren’t supposed to take phone calls.

  TOBY: More importantly – Dimitri?

  DIMITRI: Yeah?

  TOBY: The fuck have you got on your head?

  DIMITRI: Just came here on the bike.

  ALISTAIR: What bike?

  DIMITRI: 1962 Triumph Thunderbird.

  MILES: You’ve got a Thunderbird?

  DIMITRI: Bought it yesterday.

  ED: Is it like in The Great Escape?

  DIMITRI takes off his goggles and helmet and puts them on the table.

  DIMITRI: No, because that’s American. This is a classic British bike. 650cc.

  HUGO: How long till you drive it into a pond?

  DIMITRI: I’m a good driver.

  HUGO: Not going to be a good driver by the end of dinner – how you going to ride it home?

  DIMITRI: Whack it in the back of the minibus.

  GUY comes back into the room, tuning back into the conversation.

  TOBY: Yeah, but sometimes they send a people carrier, Space Cruiser thing – can’t fit a motorbike –

  DIMITRI: They’re not going to send a Space Cruiser.

  TOBY: How d’you know?

  DIMITRI: ’Cause I booked it myself. It’s definitely a minibus.

  GUY: You booked it?

  DIMITRI: Nothing but the best for my boys.

  GUY: How come you booked it?

  DIMITRI: You’re looking at tonight’s official Post-Party Party Starter. Seeing as how we’re back with a capital boom, James has put me in charge of organising something suitably awesome.

  Hope you’ve got your shades, chaps, you’re gonna be up till dawn.

  HUGO: What, tequila shots on Port Meadow?

  DIMITRI: Now did I say we were staying in Oxford?

  GUY: Oh my god.

  DIMITRI: Got to keep Tubes out of town, haven’t we? Away from girls with camera phones.

  TOBY: Yeah yeah.

  ALISTAIR: So where we going?

  DIMITRI: Surprise!

  Now, who wants a sit on the motorbike?

  ED: Me! Me!

  HUGO: I’ll give it a miss, if you don’t mind.

  DIMITRI holds up his keys.

  DIMITRI: Your loss. Anyone got a licence?

  MILES: Yeah, I have.

  HUGO: Have you?

  MILES: Yeah.

  DIMITRI: Go for your life.

  DIMITRI hands the keys to MILES. MILES heads out of the door, followed by TOBY, ED, ALISTAIR…and HUGO.

  TOBY: Thought you were sitting out.

  HUGO: Have a smoke while I’m out there, can’t I?

  GUY: James gave you the job?

  DIMITRI: Well, you know. Volunteered.

  GUY: After I told you I was going to talk to him?

  DIMITRI: Like you said, elections next term, no harm in helping out a bit, upping one’s profile…

  GUY: I said that about me, I didn’t think you’d be –

  DIMITRI: All those ideas you got from your uncle.

  GUY: Yeah, ideas I got.

  DIMITRI shrugs.

  So what, you’re getting us all on a flight to Vienna?

  DIMITRI: Wait and see.

  GUY: Fuck I wish I hadn’t told you.

  DIMITRI: Why did you? If you didn’t want me to have a go as well?

  GUY: Because you’re my friend.

  DIMITRI: Tactical error, mate.

  GUY: Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d –

  DIMITRI: What?

  GUY: I didn’t think you’d be going for president.

  DIMITRI: You think I wouldn’t be a good president?

  GUY: No, I just –

  DIMITRI: Is it cos I is Greek?

  GUY: No, god. No.

  DIMITRI: Jesus, Bellingfield. It’s because I’m Greek?

  GUY: No, I mean – No, in a lot of ways you’re more English than any of us –

  DIMITRI: What, it’s in the statutes I have to produce four British grandparents, or –

  GUY: No.

  DIMITRI: You think I can’t be President because I’m Greek!

  GUY: Mate, mate, really I – I’m not being –

  DIMITRI: Game on, mate. Game on.

  DIMITRI takes a stack of bank notes out of his pocket, and during the following places one bank note under each of the place mats on the table.

  GUY: What – what you doing?

  DIMITRI: All part of the surprise.

  GUY: Fuck’s sake –

  ALISTAIR and HARRY come back in, in high spirits.

  ALISTAIR: Mate, that is fucking magnificent.

  HARRY: Those guys knew how to live, you know? Want it, woof it.

  HARRY clocks the atmosphere in the room.

  Fuck, it’s every time I walk in.

  ALISTAIR: (To HARRY.) Mate, tell the guys what you just told me.

  DIMITRI: Bell-end wants to be president.

  ALISTAIR: What?

  HARRY: We’ve got a president.

  DIMITRI: Bell-end’s campaigning for next time.

  GUY: So are you!

  ALISTAIR: Can you stop hacking for two seconds?

  Villiers.

  HARRY: So yeah, I’m talking to this chap I met at Cowes, turns out he’s a Riot Club member from back in the roaring 80s. And apparently – at one of the most legendary dinners ever – apparently they hired a girl.

  GUY: A girl?

  HARRY: Prozzer. Kept her under the table – sucked cocks all night.

  ALISTAIR: Fucking hell.

  HARRY: Went round under the table, one at a time. Possibly more than one at a time, I mean she’s got two hands – you know…

  GUY: Oh my god.

  DIMITRI: Chlamydia anyone?

  HARRY: It’s fine, mate, I’ve booked a clean one, she’ll bring paperwork. It’s a reputable agency.

  GUY: Wait – what – hang on –

  DIMITRI: You’ve actually booked one?

  HARRY: She’ll be here before pudding.

  ALISTAIR, Guy and DIMITRI crease up laughing.

  ALISTAIR: Isn’t that fucking awesome?

  DIMITRI: Wait, is this you bidding for President?

  HARRY: President? Fuck no.

  GUY: You sure about that, Villiers?

  HARRY: Paperwork? No way, mate.

  I’m just bringing sexy back.

  GUY and DIMITRI glare at each other.

  ALISTAIR: Does James know?

  HARRY: Not the specifics. Just said I might bring an entertainment.

  TOBY and ED barrel back into the room, followed by HUGO and MILES – they’re all on a motorbike-induced high.

  TOBY: That is a savage bike, mate.

  ED: Savage.

  DIMITRI: What d’you think, Huge?

  HUGO: Quite stylish, isn’t it, as big lumps of metal go.

  TOBY: How does Daddy feel about you splashing the cash?

  ALISTAIR: Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be feeling the squeeze?

  DIMITRI: Saw it coming, mate. Greek heart, Swiss banking.

  MILES: So Ed’s got an idea where we might be going in the minibus.

  ED: Are we going to London? Rock up at Mahiki or –

  DIMITRI: No, we’re not going to London.

  ED: Edinburgh?

  DIMITRI: You’ve all got your passports back at college, yeah?

  MILES: God, are we really going somewhere?

  TOBY: We’re going abroad?

  DIMITRI: Club tradition, apparently. The after-dinner jaunt. Don’t know why we got out of the habit.

  ALISTAIR: So where we going?

  GUY: Vienna.

  DIMITRI: We can do better than Vienna.

  GUY: Marrakech.

  DIMITRI: Nice idea – next time.


  GUY: Burma, Cambodia, the Lebanon.

  TOBY: Fuck yeah, let’s go to the Lebanon!

  HARRY: And the mission is to boff someone in a Burqa.

  HUGO: That’s going to take a while, isn’t it – get there, presumably buy a ticket –

  DIMITRI: We’re not going to an airport.

  HARRY: Oh mate. Mummy’s little runaround?

  DIMITRI: Yup.

  MILES: What?

  HARRY: The Mitropoulos family jet.

  ED: A private jet to the Lebanon!

  MILES: Fuck.

  DIMITRI: We’re not going to the Lebanon, OK? We’re going somewhere else.

  JAMES hurries in, carrying a rucksack. His shirt is untucked at the front and his bow tie is crooked.

  JAMES: Sorry, evening chaps, so sorry.

  DIMITRI: James, where’ve you –

  ED: Hi James.

  JAMES: Numerical reasoning test. Ed.

  ALISTAIR: On a Saturday?

  HARRY: The Interninator.

  JAMES: Had to wait for all the others to finish counting on their fingers.

  ALISTAIR: Standard.

  JAMES: Miles – good to see you.

  MILES: Hi.

  JAMES: Landlord was being a bit funny – no one’s told him we’re the Riot Club, have they?

  HUGO: He was being funny ’cause you look like you just crawled out of an Oxfam clothes bin.

  HUGO comes over to JAMES and straightens his bow tie for him while JAMES tucks in his shirt.

  JAMES: Had to change in the taxi, couldn’t do the test in my tails, could I? ‘Sorry, got to leave early, going to a Riot Cl…

  JAMES sees CHRIS come in over HUGO’s shoulder.

  …Young Entrepreneurs dinner’

  Hi there.

  CHRIS: Hi – d’you mind if we get started pretty quick –

  JAMES: Not at all. So sorry –

  CHRIS: Don’t want the timing to be off for your main course.

  JAMES: No, absolutely.

  CHRIS: Just redoing the toast for your starters. You’re all here now, yes?

  JAMES: Yes, aren’t we?

  JAMES does a quick head count.

  Eight.

  DIMITRI: And you.

  JAMES: Nine. Who’s missing?

  GUY: Balf’s still in the bar – I’ll get him.

  GUY goes out to the bar. The boys start to arrange themselves around the table.

  CHRIS: And could I possibly take a card to swipe through the machine?

  JAMES: Yeah, absolutely.

  JAMES pulls a card out of out his wallet.

  HUGO: James – which end?

  JAMES points to the end of the table he intends to sit at, then hands a card to CHRIS.

  JAMES: Here you go, put it on that one. Social fund.

  HUGO: (Pointing to the seat next to him.) Milo – you’re here.

  CHRIS inserts JAMES’ card into a hand-held payment machine and stands near the door waiting for it to work.