Friday, November 25

English Dinner Party, Greek style

I announced a few days ago to D that I’m going to have an English dinner party. (Some months back I told D of my ambition to make her more English middle class.) "What's an English dinner party?" D asked. I explained that it's typically for six people, you come a little dressed up, you have to cook the food yourself, you drink and eat slowly and politely, everyone makes intelligent and wildly humorous conversation, and you can’t smoke and you can fart between courses. No lamb on a spit, no hand-covering-toothpick-covering-mouth, no staring at the plate wondering if it’s dead, no Greek salads, and preferably, proper cheeses (even more preferably, English and French cheeses) and a good red wine. From a bottle, not a box or a metal jug. In wine glasses, not tumblers.

Then yesterday D asked some more. She’s been reading up in things called books about English cultural life. “Do we all get naked and fuck?” she asked, excitedly. (She's such a tease, sometimes, really.) “And don’t we have to have someone dressed in black serving the wine?”, she said, pulling her book from her bag. “And don't we need jester’s?. And a hanging basket from the entrance staircase?”

We agreed a hanging buffet might well be a social first for The Village.

I looked at her book, a library piece about the salaciousness of Jacobian life in England around the 1630’s, by a JW Rochester.

I'll keep you posted, but I don't expect it’ll happen, because I haven’t got an entrance staircase, or friends that old….


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