[ englishmen and mad dogs ; london ]

[didnothingwrong]

It's been an age since Alvo's rung him up, and longer still since the last time he saw him face to face. So, when Bax gets the call from Heathrow saying he's up for business, and wants to see the boys round the old pub before he heads back, Bax is eager to agree. Work's been shite lately, and it's made things at home tense.

A night away from the girls? Hell yes.


He's the first to show up, of course. Perhaps a bit too eager there, Bax. He snags their old table, a bit smug and all, and settles in for a pint.

The boys won't mind if he gets a head start.

Comments

[didnothingwrong]

They're a bunch of shriveled old bellends, is what they are. God, how did it happen? He swears he can remember a time when he wasn't in bed by half ten, and a thrilling Saturday night involved more than watching the National Lottery and trimming grey hairs out of his ears. He can remember when Alvo was still awkward around girls, and Rick was still fun at parties. Thinks he can even remember what it was like to see Quinn smile, if he really strains himself.

"Before we get a taste of your world, we have the matter of tonight at hand." He finishes off his pint, regarding the three of them in turn. "Come on, lads! I've got a whole night free of the girls. We're not going to spend the whole thing pissing on about ... haircuts and damp weather, are we?"

At the very least, he can hold his own at darts. Sort of.

"Alvo, what are your plans while you're here? It's only a day or two, isn't it?

[alvo]

"A week, then." That ought to work. It shouldn't be long enough for them to have to resort to violence against one another, although he only gives them a day or two before they start thinking about it. But that's why Mallorca is such a beautiful distraction. Girls. Wine. Water. Beach. Sun. Drugs for the taking. "A week to play. Make sure your passports are in order."

That's enough on that. Bax is right; they have the matter of tonight at hand and now it's his turn to talk about himself. Over the years, it's something he's been reticent to do. Even more so since he moved to Spain, in part because he's certain nobody really wants to hear what he has to say, in part because there are things he shouldn't tell anybody. That's his business, of course, and that's what Bax is getting at, isn't it.

His business. "While I'm here? So much fun. Banking, for the most part, and a bit of business with my solicitor." He lifts his glass, drains it, sets it down. "And see you sorry excuses for friends, of course. But that's it, nothing very romantic, nothing of the sort."

[smilebigboy]

"Sounds amazing." Woody's voice is drier than the Sahara as he leans back in his chair and continues to play with his empty glass, lopsided grin playing around his lips. Really, they can't get away from the fact that they've all turned into a bunch of old farts somehow, content to sit and bitch over a beer about visiting each other. And Alvo, who he'd always half-wondered would be the one to never grow up, coming over from the life he'd carved out to bank? It's all ridiculous.

"Bax's right, though. Ought to do something." He casts his mind briefly around and can't particularly think of anything but that can be for the others. He's not exactly known for being the ideas-man anyway. "Unless you're really excited for a wild night of banking."

He'll go along with whatever they decide, he figures. Sometimes it feels like he never came to much harm following the boys -- it was just when he went off on his own, that was when the problems came up. That's all in the past, now. Youth and youth's mistakes are gone (still close enough for him to feel the ache sometimes but he ignores that) and he's about as responsible as the rest, now.

Well.

Getting there.

[imholdingcereal]

"Oi!" he was sure that haircut comment was aimed at him and frankly, he didn't approve. His hair was wonderfully short and even, you could bloody well measure the length and find it was perfect. But sadly they were a bunch of blokes in their forties and while some, like Quinn, accept this and spend their evenings watching 'Come dine with me', listening to out-dated rock and failed pathetically to connect to the youth of today.

Then there was these lots, desperately clinging to their youth in an attempt to prove themselves still who they were. Quinn rolled his eyes at the very idea. A night of drinking, pretending they fit in and the girls they were hitting on weren't young enough to be their children and then spending the next few days in bed with a hang over. Fantastic.

Frankly Quinn would rather go to a retirement home for the weekend and hang out with the old dearies.

"If we're doing something we have to mutually agree it won't be a bloody nightclub, a 'trendy' bar or watching one another embarrassingly fail at picking up a women," And yes, he was looking at Baxter for that one but he couldn't help it. He didn't like this fight for youth, he would happily accept watching the footie, perhaps partaking in some wine or other low energy activities.

Well... one could hope?