The Riot Club Page #4

Do we need to like each other?

Pull!

Good shot.

How do you bear it, all these tourists?

Oh, couldn't afford to get the roof fixed

if they didn't come.

Pull!

It's always the roof.

No point getting misty about it.

Our roof's got holes you could fire

a cow through.

Pull!

Arse biscuits!

John Senior Sergeant over here.

Which is absolutely beautiful for context.

And there's also a Van Dyck up here.

Uh, sorry, sir, you can't go through there.

You're him.

God, I'm so sorry.

No harm done, Kerry.

And the, uh, Van Dyck which is

a very nice piece.

So this my great-great-great grandfather

who was at the first ever club dinner.

Oh!

And this

is Lord Riot himself.

Total f***ing legend,

that's what you say, isn't it?

Ryle, this is my uncle Jeremy.

Uncle Jezza was Riot Club President

back in the what, 1850s?

Little sh*t.

- Pretty much runs the country now.

- Well, just the party.

- Balfour, still bowling under arm?

- Working on it.

- How d'you do?

- Alistair Ryle

See you all for dinner. Beef, I think.

Shall we get the PlayStation out, Villiers?

What, so I can whoop your arse again?

We woke up the next day in Vienna.

Passed out face down in a box of marzipan.

That was one of

our quieter dinners.

When, um, when my father was at Oxford,

the Riot set off a box of fireworks

in the Randolph Hotel.

- Oh, dear.

- Classic.

Different times. Well, you wouldn't f***

about like that now, would you?

No, of course not.

Can't have anything else in the papers.

Nazi sh*t storm over student conservatives

was bad enough.

Children playing politics.

Are you not a fan of Port and Policy Night?

Full of twats who think it's a free pass

into the cabinet.

Local councillors of the future.

Well, good night, all.

- You sorry bunch.

- Night, Jezza.

Hello, doggles!

Yes, hello.

Come on, up you come.

You know what Jezza told me? Back in the 80s

they used to hire a girl for the dinner.

- A girl?

- Prozzer.

Put her under the table,

went round one at a time.

Huh.

Don't listen. Horrid boys.

So, we're at the top university

in the world, yeah?

Arguably.

And so are 20,000 other people.

But there are no more

than 10 in the Riot Club.

The top 10.

If you'd like, I could speak to Leighton.

I'll nominate you.

Best not tell Mum about that.

Uh, George IV, I think.

Whoops!

That's the college rowing team.

When they hear this song, they have to down

their drinks and take off all their clothes.

Do you not think they've noticed

it's massively homoerotic?

I've heard the Riot Club have an initiation

where you pour a whole bottle of champagne

over your head.

Oh, brilliant.

I think I'd rather drink it.

Right. Anyone? Lauren, drinks?

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