Roses in December

Freddie and Brian exchanged a look that Roger wasn't very fond of. It seemed off-putting and strange to him. "I'm going to call John," Brian mentioned, standing to his feet, shuffling over to the phone in the corner of the room.

"Am I missing something? Who is John?" Roger asked, looking between the two.

Brian slammed his hand down onto the ringer, turning back to look at his friend. Freddie, who had been mysteriously quiet for the past few moments, shifted in his seat. "Roger darling, what year is it?" He asked him quietly.

Roger shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Nineteen seventy." He answered, clear as day.

Must to Roger's shock and awe, his answer had been incorrect. It was nineteen seventy-six.