We are seated around a small table in Sela, all the nicer as it is some months since we have ventured here, getting caught up as we have in 6.00am finishes at Reform and '90's nights at Fab. It is just under 24 hours since we arrived back in Leeds and, propelled by the intimacy of the last week, we have decreed it impossible not to spend another night together. For reasons that none of us can quite work out (my inability to eat adult sized portions has been something of a running joke) I am so hungry that I have just purchased a curly wurly.
Bar Boy sits down at the end of the table and places his drink down. He looks proud.
"Do you know how much this cost?"
We shake our heads; History Boy aside, our group's knowledge of beer pricing is not exactly first rate.
"£2.80". It is accompanied by a satisfied smirk and a sort of glow fills our table.
It is clear in all our faces (I alone have drinks three and four lined up in front of me) that life may not get better than this.