Maybe We Stole Their Name

'Emily? Emily!'
Somewhere across the country, someone puts down a Morris dancing costume.
'Ah. Morgan. What may I do you for?'
'Some magazine's stolen our bloody name.'
'Really?' she sounds very out of breath. 'Sorry. I'm just in Oxford for this Morris meet and classics re-enactment debate. We're doing a Theocritus special. You know he's my favourite.'
'Yeah. Well listen, there's this magazine, right, and they've just nabbed our name. Nabbed! And not just that, they've set up a record label and a clubnight called We View Horizons Kindly.'
'Well it might have been Tolstoy.'
'He's dead.'
'No, my ex. The one with the tattoo. He came up with the name.'
'But it's very specific.'
'Maybe we stole their name.'
'It's the first issue! The bastards...'
'Well maybe we should contact them.'
'Maybe? I'm on it now. I can't believe they'd just steal a name... I mean, it's the best band name ever!'
'I know.'
'You don't sound convinced.'
'Where did you find this?

'I'm kicking up a right sweat under these lights,' says Burgundy, fanning herself with a piece of toilet roll.
'Is the starter ready?' groans a member of the camera crew.
'I need filling,' gestures James, the man in the floral shirt, shaking his glass.
'I'm kicking up a right sweat under these lights.' Burgundy fans herself with a piece of toilet roll.
'Can we get the starter out?' asks a member of the camera crew.
'My glass needs refilling.' James, the man in the floral shirt, winks at a very flustered-looking Burgundy. There's a murmur round the table. Apparently LOTS of glasses need filling.
'She wasn't giving anyone enough booze.' says Devlin, in his cut-scene in Burgundy's bedroom. 'I think she was taking a nip now and again in the kitchen.'
'And what do you think about your fellow diners?' the production manager asks.
'The woman's got very bright teeth,' he says, 'And the man.... he's quite camp, isn't he? Is he gay?'
Silence.
'I'm not homophobic, by the way. My best friend is gay. Oh god.'
Back downstairs, Burgundy is clattering away in the kitchen. The guests are confused.
'So what do you all do for a living?' asks James.
'I work in IT,' says Devlin.
'Oh. Are you on the canteetn dessert trolley?' He slaps his thigh and the group goes down in laughter. The main comes out. It's tournedos of beef with a red wine reduction. Devlin gulps down his wine.
'You wouldn't be saying that if I was a lesbian,' he splutters. 'Shit.'
'Do you have a problem with lesbians?' asks the host. One of the tournedos falls on the floor. A cameraman can't stop giggling.
'I thought they were like, tornadoes.' says Savannah. 'Like the film.'
'I think the film's called Twister.'
'So does everyone like beef?' asks Burgundy. 'I love a bit of beef meself. Beef curtains!' she howls.
Devlin spits out his wine. Savannah leans over to Miranda. 'Did she just say beef curtains?'
'So how old are you?' James asks Burgundy.
'Ooh, you're asking a lot of questions tonight, aren't you?' Burgundy looks rather unsteady on her feet. 'How old do you think, love?'
'I would definitely say... about thirty-five?'
'Born in.' whispers Miranda to Devlin, those teeth sparkling. 'BORN IN.'
Devlin screams. People chew their beef slowly. Miranda's teeth are starting to get stained with the red wine. In Devlin's head the room begins to spin.
The rest of the evening goes something like this: someone falls off a chair, the dessert has to be 're-taken' twice and James tells a monstrously obscene, rather unrepeatable story before licking his plate clean.
Devlin falls asleep in the back of the car. It's the same driver.
'Oh...' he murmurs. 'I'd give Burgundy's night a five. Can we stop?'
'We're almost home.' The driver turns up his stereo as Devlin throws up all over the leather back seat.