‘I agree with Omar,’ piped up Stevo. ‘What the fuck’s Balti got to do with me and Micky? How about Broadway Boys?’

‘Yes, why don’t we call ourselves the Broadway Boys?’ agreed Sharif sarcastically. ‘And while we’re at it, why don’t we wear bloody stockings and heels and audition for Forty-Fucking-Second Street.’

‘Why don’t we just call ourselves “Tooting”?’ offered Micky. ‘Or SWI7? Stevo’s right, we’ve got fock all to do with Balti, and everyone can see we’re bloody boys.’

‘But I don’t mind the Boys bit,’ Stevo objected. ‘How about Tooting Boys, we’re all boys from Tooting, apart from Micky here.’

‘I am focking so from Tooting,’ Micky countered furiously.

‘Well, you don’t fucking sound like it, Paddy,’ said Stevo with the infuriating superiority of a fourth year talking down to a third year. Stevo could get away with saying things like Paddy, as his dad was Irish.

Micky turned white with fury and stormed to the other side of the room, sitting down heavily on an over-padded armchair. ‘Zitface,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Listen, I want Balti Boys,’ insisted Sharif stubbornly. ‘We need people to know there’s some bloody Asian influence in the band.’

‘There’s only you and Omar,’ pointed out Stevo, scratching his spotty chin and sprawling his long, lanky legs out in front of the sofa. ‘You’re only half the band.’

‘Well, we’ll be playing my bloody songs until one of you gets off your arse and writes some of your own stuff,so I’d say my influence was quite bloody significant,’ retorted Sharif heatedly. Bloody insubordinates. He’d half a mind to go it alone.

‘So if you and Omar are the Balti part of the band, what are Stevo and I?’ asked Micky, having calmed down a bit.

’You’re the Boys,’ said Sharif patiently.

‘But we’re all Boys,’ Omar added. He was a touch embarrassed by the storm his first comment had unleashed, but again his intellectual pride would not allow him to ignore the flaw in Sharif’s argument.

‘Well, what else do Micky and Stevo have in common?’ Sharif muttered. ‘He’s ginger, he’s not, he’s a third year, he’s not, he moved here five years ago, he’s lived in Tooting all his bloody life, his dad runs the Crown, his dad works in a garage …’

’Well, we’re both Irish,’ suggested Micky.

Sharif snorted, ‘And what have the Irish given to music? Bloody Eurovision winners, The Corrs and Daniel O’Donnell. Bloody soppy balladeers. We may as well call the band Bloody Balti Ballads …’

Sharif took a breath to continue his scornful rant, when Micky and Stevo surprised him by looking at each other, and roaring ‘Yeah!’ in unison.

‘Bloody Balti Ballads, that’s a rocking name!’ said Stevo, ‘That’s got to be the one.’