It is Leeds. It is a bar with flocked wallpaper and comfy seating. It is the early hours of Saturday morning. Predictably there has been alcohol.
It has, we have all agreed, been a long time, a sentiment which has been summed up by the phrase of the night, the ironical and slightly desultory, "that's so 2004".
"Where were you four years ago?"
Griffin thinks about this for a second. "One of the nightclubs?"
There is the flash of a grimace, something that is reflected on all of our faces.
"If it weren't for you" - I say, all thoughts of decorum long gone - "I would never have been to a Zanzibars nightclub". Obviously this is an achievement, something for Griffin to be able to say, well all that was worth it if only for the fact that a middle class girl from Leeds got to go to the most questionable nightclubs which the midlands, back in 2004, could offer.
I know as I say this that there are other things I could say. I would never have made it inside a Jumpin' Jaks nightclub either. Or gone to Bristol, or Swindon, or Harlow. No tennis at the NIA or cricket at Bunbury. No slightly freaky knowledge of the local radio stations of the North. And then there are the more important things, for whilst it is not inconceivable that I would be stood in this bar, I would not be with the people I am with now.
It is resolutely odd how things turn out.
"What was the one in Bristol?" Griffin asks.
None of us know the answer but I do realise, even though I am clouded by dancing and vodka and the untarnished enthusiasm of new Bw(or without)Gs, how special this whole experience has been. A little bit wonderful maybe. And a part of me will always adore the boy next to me if only for the fact of everything that has been.
I hear Gayle’s voice. "Where did you get those trousers?"
"Yes", it is out of my mouth before I can stop myself, "They’re horrible".
Everything is, I see immediately, exactly how it should be.