I’m always a bit wary when invited for the first time to a dinner party at a friend’s home; some of the least enjoyable social occasions I’ve ever attended have been misleadingly advertised as such. The inevitable email about ‘dietary requirements’ has been duly responded to. You’ve muttered to yourself about the time (8 o’clock? Why so late?) and worked out that because your hosts (and I use that word advisedly) live on the other side of London, you won’t be in bed before midnight. And the route is terrible – but never mind, it’s lovely to be invited to someone’s home for dinner, isn’t it?
Why would anyone cook you a meal they’ve never attempted before? And how come some people are incapable of understanding cooking times?
Welcome to a bad dinner party.
On arrival, as your host opens the door, you can already hear the toddlers whining about not wanting to go to bed.
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