Ladhood

It's lime and soda. I'm not... I'm not kidding.

It's, erm...

Look, I've decided to do a month off the booze.

Oh, really?

What? You don't think I can do it?

No, no. I don't want you to make yourself miserable

because you feel like you need to apologise.

That's not going to be a factor either way.

I'll be miserable whether I drink or not.

The point is that I've said I'm going to do it, so I'm going to do it.

And I want to do it, and I can do it,

- so you'll see me do it. - Well, that's great.

- Yeah, it is. - Sorry, this can't be helping, so...

Mmm. Oh! Right, I better go.

- Got that work social. - Oh, yeah. What is it again?

Crazy golf, AKA drinking overpriced cocktails

whilst men show off about being able to tap a ball into a clam's mouth,

which is important for bonding, apparently.

What are you going to do tonight, then?

Erm... Well, my lot are all off for a curry.

‐Great. ‐Nah. They'll all be drinking. It'll be depressing.

Why don't you go and do something else sociable and fun

that doesn't need you to have drink?

- Like what? - You know Claire's boyfriend, Finn?

Yeah. He's in that men's cookery club.

I think this week they're doing steaks,

then next week, they're doing a chicken

cooked on a non‐alcoholic beer can.

- I'll go for the curry. - Bye.

- Well, have fun. I'll miss you. - I'll miss you.

- Love you. - Love you.

Have a good night.

It's probably been about 15 years

since I went a Friday night without drinking,

except for that time last year I had gastroenteritis

and couldn't get out of bed.

And even then, I had a couple of Tyskies just to take the edge off.

To go out on a Friday and not drink and seem happy and talk to people?

How the fuck are you supposed to do that?

Where does it come from,

this idea, this conviction that Fridays

are for nothing but drinking?

It's eerily reminiscent of those pre‐booze days.

Me and my mates round Craggy's playing PS2, bored as fuck.

Fuck sake.

Another fucking Friday with nowt happening.

Nah, it's fucking shit, innit?

Come on, lads.

There's loads of fun stuff we could do tonight.

Like what?

We can stay in and play Tekken, you know,

or stay in and play FIFA,

or stay in and play Metal Gear.

Addy, they're all the same option, mate.

Stay in and play the same shitty PS2 game

we've completed about eight times.

- I aren't lying. - I'm sorry, but I just don't believe you.

Kayleigh, I aren't lying, I swear. Cragg, give us that plug.

What you doing, Lucy?

I just said I'm using t'plug, Cragg, for my hair straightener.

- Stop calling me Cragg. - Why? It's your name, innit?

You don't call your own brother by his surname.

- Call me Tom. - Shut up, Cragg.

At least give me a bit of that vodka in exchange.

Eh, I aren't giving you vodka. You'd be on t'floor.

And anyway, I've got plugs in my own room, you know?

Don't need to use yours.

Well, why are you in here, then?

Eh, because I don't want to be sitting in a room full of hairspray, do I?

Right, where we are we off tonight then?

Right, let's go Mint, then Space, then Buzz, then Heaven And Hell,

then Baha, then Bondi.

No, no, no. Let's go Birdcage, then Flares, then Baha,

then Mint, then back to Birdcage, then Mission.

Then we get a taxi to Wakefield and go to Buzz.

Then we get a taxi back to Leeds, walk about and then Majestic.

All right, sick! Does me skirt look all right like this?

Yeah. It looks well nice, love.

Well, that's proper weird, that.

- What are you crossing your legs for? - Just 'cause.

You've got a boner, haven't you?

No. - Who's got a boner?

Ralph. - I haven't.

You dirty little bastard.

I don't have a boner. I were just crossing my legs.

You've never crossed your legs in your fucking life.

- Why all of a sudden are you doing it now? - I wanted to try it.

Cragg, your mates are fucking disgusting.

Dirty old bastard.

I can't fucking take this, me. Come on.

I can't take another Friday night like this.

- Right, innit? - I can't go out now.

I know, it's so disgusting. That's proper immature, right, get out.

Get your lob on away from me.

Fuck it, lads.

Let's just get pissed.

You say that every Friday, Craggy, and you never manage to,

'cause you can't get no booze.

What's going to be different this time?

Our collective drinking experience was very limited.

Addy, as a Muslim, had never tried alcohol at all,

because intoxicants are proscribed by the Koran.

He did smoke, though, because smoking isn't explicitly haram,

which means "forbidden."

Although, I believe that

some Muslim scholars do consider smoking haram on the basis...

Eh, this isn't relevant to this story, really, is it?

No wonder Craggy felt desperate to drink.

Everybody did.

The week only made sense because of Friday night,

and Friday night only made sense because of booze.

New Labour introduced 24‐hour alcohol licensing on the premise

that it would bring cafe culture to Britain.

And post‐industrial Northern towns

would suddenly become like Paris?

Tough on binge, tough on the causes of binge.

Have you had some vodka? Have you had some wine?

I've got to say this, all right?

My greatest and only dream in life

is to, one day, get pissed.

And I believe that with determination,

that day can be today.

Basically, I just want to get battered.

Yes, Craggy. You legend.

I'm with you, man, tonight's the night.

Liam?

We're going to get smashed, boys.

Well, it'll only take you one sip 'cause you're a fucking girl.

- Shut up, you silly prick. - Put your hand in.

Lads, I'm going to put my hand in, too, but only halfway,

'cause I'm not going to get pissed,

but I am going to watch you lot get pissed.

That still counts.

One, two, three. Wey!

So, that's where it started for me,

the idea that drink is everything on a Friday night.

And now, I can't be in this kind of environment sober.

I'm always at my most charming, fun and likeable when I've had a drink.

That teenage night was a lot like this one.

Booze, booze everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

Are you going to ask one of them, Craggy?

Ask this guy coming down now.

Try him, try him.

You can ask him, you're the confident one.

Er, excuse me.

Will you go into the shop and get us some booze, please?

It's not for me, it's for my grandad.

He's broken his hip. I mean, he's 75.

He can't really get out and that.

He just wants a drink on a Friday night.

Yeah, all right. What does he want?

Erm...

Twelve bottle of WKD. Blue, please.

Nice try.

For fuck's sake.

- Here. Do you know who we should ask? Who?

Old Larry Metcalf.

Who the hell is old Larry Metcalf?

Larry. You know Larry.

He's that bloke who'll buy anyone booze.

He don't give two fucks how old you are.

And he only lives round t'corner.

Just 'cause he buys booze for kids don't make him a paedo.

It's a slippery slope, though, innit?

I've got a better idea.

Did you get served?

Does it look like it?

Thought you might have stashed it

in them clown pockets that you've got.

This is my dead uncle's suit, you little prick.

What did he dies of, being fucking huge?

No. He slipped and cracked his head in t'shower.

Didn't feel a thing, apparently.

That's how I want to go.

Oh, shit. Look.

Come on, let's go. Let's be gone, boys.

Ralph, come on.

Nah, fuck that.

Now then, Ralph.

Will you buy us some booze?

You what?

Will you buy us some booze?

What's just happened there, Tinhead?

- Ralph just asked you to buy him booze, Rupert. - What?

Ralph, who got battered a couple of weeks back

for being a mouthy little prick and not knowing his place?

He's asking me, Whitey's mate, to buy him some booze?

- Yeah, blagshead, that. - How do you feel about that, Tinhead?

I don't know. How do you feel about it, Rupert?

I think it's funny. I think it's real funny.

I think it's proper funny.

Cheeky little prick, asking me to buy you booze?

Cheeky. Takes some real stones.

Yeah, let's have a look at that shiner.

That's a beauty, that, lad. Look at that, Tinhead.

Aye, it's a proper nice one, that.

Yeah, it's gorgeous, innit? All t'yellows and blues and that.

Why does it do that, Tinhead?

It's due to the breakdown of haemoglobin.

You just know shit like that, Tinhead, you know, it's mad.