A Peculiarly Male Dilemma

My friend R and I met up last week for a boys' night out although, strictly speaking, we are not boys nor have been for a very long time: we are men. But the phrase "men’s night out" sounds rather solemn and doesn't hold out the promise of joyful, schoolboy mischief which is an essential part of the pleasure of all-male company. Still, must it be 'boys'? There are also fellows, chaps, guys, geezers, lads and blokes, all of whom have their nights out. Will none of these titles do for us?

Well, we are certainly not fellows: they exist mainly in mythology - where they are generally seen as "jolly good" - and in traditional parts of Liverpool, where they are referred to as 'fellers'. We would not want to be chaps, even if our backgrounds were sufficiently privileged for us to qualify: their reputation for being decent and trustworthy has long since been discredited. Guys are not really considered British - unless you are too young to remember that - and might include females when the term is used collectively. As for geezers, they are either very old or very Cockney. Lads are, confusingly, young or Northern or disreputable - or a combination of these. And blokes are rather one-dimensional stereotypes of stolid male dependability.

All of the above definitions are subjective and variable depending on circumstances, regional quirks and socio-economic situations. “Lads”, for example, are seen regularly in pubs where they drink too much lager and are unabashedly loud and sexist. “Blokes” are also seen in pubs but they drink real ale in moderate quantities and are reserved in company. They are also likely to be in a position to oblige you with the loan of a drill or a ladder.

  

In middle class parlance "boys' night out" is shorthand for "an exclusively male trip to the pub" so I suppose we qualified as boys on account of our being middle class, middle aged and intent on harmless, gender-specific, socially acceptable drinking. In any case the phrase is a useful coverall. It helps, for example, in managing the expectations of one's (female) partner who might otherwise feel that she is missing out on some interesting or important social event. Certainly my partner would not have wanted to be included in our tour of Shoreditch pubs where the craft-ales are plentiful and the food has lashings of man-appeal. It was sufficient to announce "We're going on a boy's night out" without having to outline the programme.

But we liked it, R and I. The beer and food were excellent and not once did we get called 'boys'. In one pub we were served by the new girl, so young she wasn't sure how to address us - and so didn't. In another we were honoured as 'gents' by the (again) young but nevertheless knowledgeable barman who dispensed beer with relish to appreciative customers. In a third we were treated as old geezers, even though it was not spoken and in a fourth we were seated for supper and called 'sir' by a proper waiter.

Some days later I was called 'sir' once more. I had finally got around to taking a jacket to the tailor to have the arms shortened. I am not sure when it happened - my arms getting shorter - but a visit to the tailor is always worth it for the 'sir' and the flattering assurance that my taste in clothes is sophisticated and impeccable. While I was walking home my phone rang. It was my friend H.

"Hi Joe, How's it going?"

"Fine thanks, H. What's happening?"

"Oh, you know, same old stuff. Look, I was just wondering if you could lend me a drill?"

"Sure, no problem. Will you be needing a ladder as well?"