My husband really is a keeper. A truly wonderful man, he has all the right qualities: excellent taste in diamonds and wine, very easy on the eye, likes doing the grocery shopping and is an excellent cook. He also keeps his dogs until they become blind and smelly, which gives you some measure of the man. He did, however, give me a child some years ago, which makes me quite cross when I think back on it, but – then again – you can’t have everything …
We have jolly good time together, so it always surprises me when he gets out of hand; which he did one Saturday morning a couple of months ago. He interrupted my quiet reading to announce that we had to Have.The.Philistines.Over – that night! This made me so livid that I had to have a tot of whiskey in my coffee. To give you an idea of the horror that awaited me: these people went to the Celine Dion concert! Mrs. P. considers Wilbur Smith a good writer and Mr. P. wears mock-Crocks; they had recently vacationed at Margate and would want to show their photographs of Oribi Gorge. They would bring their children and allow them to talk. They would drink Fifth Avenue Cold Duck.
My GBF and I had a telephone chat and I had my defence strategy mapped out, I would cook a vicious Chicken Vindaloo. Perhaps this would make them refuse the next invitation?
Suffice to say the night was ghastly. My attempts to be as offensive as possible were misinterpreted and The Philistines brayed like randy horses at each insult I threw their way. Never again! I think I would rather take tea with Mr. Mugabe.
But my table did look very nice …
FOR THE MOST HILARIOUS ACCOUNT OF A BAD DINNER PARTY, GO AND READ NR HATCH’S POST: