Dinner party from hell

Miss Hacksaw: Afternoon

K: Oh, hullo. Weren’t you meant to be here about forty minutes ago?

MH: Yeah, sorry. I woke up late and then started watching Hollyoaks, and then had to have a deep bath with lots of soothing balms and lotions to stop all the hate, and then had to get newspapers…

K: Ooh, what ones?

MH: The Observer, for the food magazine only. They’ve a special on Chinese food.

K: Oh excellent. I bought the Sunday Mirror and feel a bit sick as a result.

MH: Why?

K: The zebra print is back.

MH: Oh hell, really? Actually, so’s the pantsuit, I meant to tell you.

K: The what? Those…all in one things from the 80s? That make going for a piss a nightmare?

MH: Oh yes. I’m appalled, they’re almost as bad as the body.

K: Oh ewww, the body. That by law had to be work with really high waisted jeans so that nobody would see the fact you were wearing an all in one bodysuit.

MH: Ugh, high waists. Aren’t they back as well now?

K: Probably. It’ll be legwarmers and kilts next.

MH: “Designed especially for Topshop by Kate Moss”, I’d imagine. Oof. What else is in the Mirror?

K: Gail Porter.

MH: Didn’t her hair grow back?

K: Yes, but it all fell out again.

MH: Harsh. What’s she got to say for herself?

K: She’s quite entertaining actually. They’ve thrown her a question about who she’d have at her nightmare dinner party.

MH: Oh wicked! I can do that game!

K: As opposed to not being able to do…other games?

MH: I had to ban myself from playing Fantasy Dinner Party last year.

K: ……Okay.

MH: No, seriously. After the Steve Irwin incident.

K: The what?

MH: Well, we were in the pub, and Fantasy Dinner Party came up, and Steve Irwin was on mine. And then the next day he died. And I had to quit playing Fantasy Dinner Party, because of all the subsequent fears for Kiefer and whatnot. However, Nightmare Dinner Party is do-able, because I really don’t care very much if Julia Roberts is speared by a stingray.

K: Oh, Julia. How we dislike thee. Apart from in Pretty Woman, where you’re actually quite cool although not half as cool as your ho mate. What is it about her we hate so much though?

MH: The obligatory grinning scene in every film she’s done ever, apart from Flatliners where she was all beaky and earnest.

K: Ugh, good call. She’s in. Okay, who else?

MH: Davina McCall. Which I know is well controversial and I’m the only person in the entire world doesn’t like her, but she’d spend all the time SHOUTING or telling other guests what’s happening in the kitchen in that Big Brother conspiratual tone. “It. Is. 7.30pm. The guests. Have been here. For thirty minutes. The starter. Is imminent.”

K: Ha! And when another guest went for a piss, she’d collar them outside the loo to get their bitchy opinions on everyone else in the house. “So. Julia. What did you really think of Jeremy Kyle? LET’S SEE YOUR BEST MOMENTS!”

MH: “Ooh, Sleeping With The Enemy!” Yeah, or not. Jeremy Kyle totally belongs in dinner party hell though.

K: Oh my God it’d be horrendous. Someone would say something fairly standard about how their sister once took coke at Chinawhite and he’d be straight down their throats. “I can’t believe you KNOW she’s taking it and you’re not doing a THING about it!” “Er, it was ten years ago. Nobody goes to Chinawhite anymore, twat.” “Listen to me! LISTEN! To me! You’re irresponsible, you’re a disgrace! That’s a FACT!”
MH: And then Tom Cruise takes him into a corner and tries to calm him down with some calming and not-at-all-sinister Scientology chat.

K: Oh my God. The Cruise is the ULTIMATE nightmare dinner party guest. First of all he’d turn up and do The Grin at everyone –

MH: Gah, the pleased-with-oneself side-smile as patented in Cocktail?

K: Exactly that. Then he’d be sniffing round the entire house checking that you hadn’t stashed a camera or a 3am Girl in the corner or whatever. Then he’d haul in Katie Holmes, stash her on the sofa with a few tomes of L. Ron’s and prop her up with all your cushions to stop her lurching to the side like the blow up doll in Alan Partridge. And then he’d bore the arse off everyone for three hours trying to convert them all to Scientology.

MH: It’s enough to almost make you feel sorry for them. Except Dubya.

K: Ha! Who’d just be sat at the head of the table with half a pretzel hanging out of his mouth, looking cross eyed at Cruise. “Shut him up. Put the off button…er…on.”

MH: Christ, what a motley crew. What are the odds on me killing them all within twenty minutes?

K: I’ll give you a tenner at two to one.

MH: Done.