The Riot Club Page #2

The dinner's closer than you think, guys.

We've got to start initiations, yeah?

May I say this is an opportunity to reconsider

the sort of person we're approaching,

really make sure they're

the best and the brightest?

- You mean the prettiest.

- I meant fine minds.

- Kidney, Hugo?

- You see?

Oh, my God, that one last year.

- Gay Harry Potter.

- Yeah.

Harry Potter is gay.

He's clearly porking Weasley.

Guys! Are we seriously going to be

the only year that couldn't get 10 members?

We're going down in history for that?

Did they go to a good school?

Eton, St Paul's, Westminster,

Harrow, if you have to.

And when push comes to shove,

do they have it in them

to be a f***ing legend?

You'll know it when you see it.

Who's gonna get it?

Come on, come on!

Don't scream, don't look at me.

Put in the PIN number and take out 200.

Come on, put in the f***in' PIN number!

It's actually just "PIN".

What?

The N stands for number,

it's Personal Identification Number.

So, if you say "PIN number",

you're saying "number" twice.

You're saying "Personal Identification

Number number".

It's just wrong!

- Think you're f***ing clever?

- Jesus, please...

Shut it, you posh twat.

You pompous little prick.

You OK, mate?

- Yeah, I'm fine.

- F***, what happened to your face?

Got mugged.

- Hard luck, mate.

- Look, I'm fine.

- I'm fine. It doesn't matter.

- No, mate.

Come on.

What absolute wankers.

Get a job, yeah?

Shouldn't give you this,

you've probably got a concussion.

Do you know your name and everything?

Alistair Ryle.

- Not related to Sebastian Ryle?

- Yeah, my brother.

F***, you're Sebbers' brother? Oh, my wow!

- How come I didn't know you at Eton?

- I was at Harrow.

Ah, well, can't have everything.

Good to meet you.

Whoo!

I say! You ladies need a lift?

- Guys, this is Sebbers' little brother.

- No jokes!

- Hi.

- Hi. Bellingfield.

I'm Toby.

Your brother was, like,

the best Riot Club president ever.

Oh, my God, Sebbers was a legend.

How's he doing at Deutsche Bank?

Uh, uh, they let him go, actually.

- What?

- Yeah, last in first out, so...

F***, what's he doing now?

Uh, says he's going to buy an Airstream,

big old silver caravan thing,

start a business doing street food

at festivals and sh*t.

You know, "Really good burgers"?

Mate, get in.

What the f*** happened to your face?

- Hi.

- Hey.

Did you ask for an upgrade?

I'm skint.

My tutor's paying me to type his book up.

I've got so much to do.

Can I help?

We really shouldn't be doing this.

Mate, what the f***

was going on in that place tonight?

You can't dance for sh*t.

Good morning, Oxford!

- Someone put Tubes to bed, yeah?

- How about a sleep?

Nice bit of Bedfordshire.

The Duke of Bedfordshire!

- I'm the king of the car!

- Whoa!

You're magnificent, now sit down.

Jesus f***!

Not on my coat!

Oh, bail out!

Oh, that f***ing, oh, my God...

Ugh!

That is hanging.

- Sorry.

- Is it on my hair?

- Bit of a chunderstorm...

- Oh!

Come on, mate...

F*** it. Ashtray was full anyway.

Thanks, Bell-end.

Mate, the homeless can't drive.

Pudding.

No, dessert.

Toilet.

Toilet?

Loo.

This office is mental.

There are some rooms here, you think,

"This is too Oxford even for Oxford",

you know what I mean?

Oh, napkin.

You say "napkin"?

No, you say "napkin". We say "serviette".

Dick.

Yeah. "Dick".

Big night last night?

The usual.

Yeah, I didn't sleep much either.

Good morning.

Please, take a seat.

I won't be interested in excuses

about not having done it

because you're in the college play.

If you don't bring an essay

worthy of discussion each week,

you let your partner down

as well as yourself.

Your job is to provoke him,

challenge him to be more rigorous,

examine every thought.

Any questions?

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?

Oh, um, I think we're just buying our own.

Oh, yeah, sure. Cool.

We do it with port, actually, not

champagne. It's more visceral.

In the Riot Club?

Miles, isn't it?

The school plays?

My Richard lll was quite something.

Oh, my God. You're the guy

who used to improvise limericks in Latin.

And get bogwashed for it.

You look, um, you look different.

Hugo.

- It's Hugo.

- I did remember.

You didn't. It's fine.

Cigarette?

After you.

Oh, everything you see

is begged and borrowed.

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