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are you at a dinner party?
Oh shit. Tarquin, Esmerelda, Penelope invited you over for a spot of Butternut Squash & Lambs Liver au gratin. And you don't even know what 'au gratin' means...


Um, got any lager?

 


Um, got any chips?

 


oh no - not you

 
Do all of the girls' names end with a vowel?
Is there more Balsamic vinegar than strictly necessary?
Are you mildly unnerved at the sight of a switched off television?
Are you the only person there whose education wasn't paid for?
Does your dinner consist of a very small piece of meat "accompanied" by some orange stuff and some green stuff? Is your pudding a column towering half a foot out of your bowl and heavily laced with icing sugar? Has the icing sugar been arranged?
Are you drinking three times as much as anyone else?
Do you suffer a flash of blind panic when it momentarily appears that you have taken too much salad?
When some horsey twat eventually feigns interest in your moribund existence, do you sum up your lifetime's achievement in an 8-second soundbite?
Are you interrogated with appalled fascination by a lisping buffoon purely because you are one of several hundred thousand people to have attended a football match that afternoon?
Do you grossly misunderstand the situation when someone asks you if you ride?
Has someone mentioned that India is amazing?
Has someone pronounced Nicaragua with a silent 'g'?
Is some tedious cock still banging on about his fucking share prices?
After 'pudding' does the resident loud-mouth tap the side of his hooter and say "Who's up for dessert?".
Could you care less if you never, ever saw these dead-eyed reptiles again?
Is there a tangible shudder of disgust when you announce that you're going for a burst?
Do you suppose that a cluster fuck is out of the question?
» submit your Dinner Party observation
written by Steve Hill
additional material:
CcCarrington, Richard Whitmarsh


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