Middle Class Dinner Parties

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Yes, we have met up with some of these London types who have moved up here to escape the takeover of Londinium by the usual suspects!

My wife calls them friends, but I call them knobheads. And snooty knobheads at that.

Anyway, a couple of nights ago we were invited to a dinner party with them and 10 more of their equally knobheaded chums. All very plush with dinner plates and about 10 rows of cutlery and napkins and all sorts of posh bollocks just so that the hosts could show off their wealth in their rather posh home just outside Windermere.

I will admit the food was excellent, as was the drink. And to some extent the topic of conversation. However, as the drink flowed the hosts and their friends became ever more candid and it quickly became apparent that they were nothing more than plastic woke-types who believe everything they read in the Guardian and tick all the usual trending news headlines such as immigration, Brexit, net zero and all that shite.

It was very hard for me to restrain my temper as these cunts supported open borders, detested Brexit (and this government) and wanted more people off the roads and on public transport.

The massive irony here is that they both drive ICE cars, they both travel 20 odd miles too and from work every day; they have gas central heating, and take trips abroad at least twice sometimes three times every year!

Their lack of self awareness/irony was amazing. And I was so tempted to pull them up about it, but the missus pleaded with me to STFU.

This just underlines the two-faced hypocrisy of these plastic woke warriors. Very vocal about telling the masses what they can and can’t do (especially at street demos), but then doing the exact opposite for themselves.

Nominated by Technocunt.

122 thoughts on “Middle Class Dinner Parties”

  1. Wankers.

    You done well not to tell them what you thought Techno.

    Windermere is the perfect safe space for this particular type of cunt.

    A few rapey acid throwing dinghy men housed nearby ought to shake them out their woke slumber.

    • I’ve never been a dinner party.
      Id like to!

      I think the swearing puts people off.
      And I don’t know the proper knives,forks and spoons.

      Maybe me picking crumbs out of my beard isn’t socially acceptable either?

      But it’s their loss.
      Im.happy to chat to any cunt , and like a laugh and can even do the odd magic trick!

      Put a word in for me Techno?
      Tell em no foreign shite
      Light on salad
      Heavy on the meat👍

      • I am afraid that you’d be disappointed at a dinner party, gravy is rarely available and scratching one’s crotch between courses is frowned upon.

      • I’d have taken a ready meal along and asked them to pop it in the microwave, then eat it out of the carton, so I wouldn’t get the cutlery mixed up.

      • Id do the same, Sammy. Just tell the woke dickheads you have ‘special dietary requirements’.

        I’d take a Naga-infused lamb phaal, and burn everyone’s nostrils, with some Bombay potato, rice and naan. Spread it out a bit with some cold bottles of Cobra.

      • Me neither Mis, the middle class have always struck me as right pretentious cunts. Mrs Bucket, all airs and graces. They elevate themselves to a place they can look down on the rest of us.

        Get loads of them in the IT world, pompous cunts in their Barrett homes shoe box, spending more than they’ve got trying to keep up with their friends who are all doing the same.

        Dinner party my arse, a few drinks and a curry and a good laugh is enough for me.

        Utter cunts

      • In my house, a dinner party is a roast, with Yorkshires and veggies, a 2 pint jug of gravy and cheesecake for afters.

        I only invite people I love, and who love and care for me.

        It tends to go well, as there’s no supercilious twats in my family (apart from Sis, who’s been kicked into touch)

      • Sounds like a sunday at my nan’s.
        Roast lamb with cheesecake for afters, vegetables grown in my Garandad’s garden.

  2. Were you tempted to say ‘we need to get Rwanda flights off the ground’, followed by ‘I’ll get mi coat’

  3. I think after a few drinks I wouldn’t be able to S T F U !
    They’re often quite intelligent in some aspects, but lack common sense, and fail to see cause and effect.
    Send ‘em down to Winsdcale.

  4. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about opera, fine dining, the theatre, problems getting a nanny and a cleaner that can speak English, or matters of concern to The Guardian. Neither do I know anyone from Islington called Cressida or Tarquin.

    Consequently I don’t get invited to ‘dinner parties’.We just have friends around for a drink and a curry, and a talk about films, football, holidays, stuff like that.

    I just accept that that’s my lot in life.

    Afternoon all.

    • I once had some cunt point out I was using the wrong fork.😡

      Fuckin pedantic nosey cunt😡

      The cunt was lucky it was work related because if it had been a pub I’d of stuck that fork right in his fuckin forehead.

      Told the cheeky cunt

      ” I’m working class pal.
      I’ve only ever used a plastic fork from the chippy.”

      The cunt was some trade union big shot.
      Champagne and socialism.

      Nobody looked up from they’re plates the rest of the meal😂

      • Tch.

        Honestly Miserable, nobody can take you anywhere. Try to eat your soup with a spoon next time.

      • Give over Ron. Drinking soup from a giant cup is the height of sophistication these days, dontcha know?

      • You can take MNC anywhere twice, IF the second time is to apologise profusely.

        You were using a fork Mis, you should have chinned the cunt.

      • Wish I had now CuntyMort.
        Even if I knew the right forks and that,
        An someone was using the wrong one,
        I wouldn’t say anything.

        Why try and embarrass them over something so trivial?

      • Exactly. Pretentious twat!
        Just did that to make himself look better, obviously intimidated by you, thought his manhood was being threatened.
        I’d have stuck one on him, shouting “stitch that”

        Also, it’s the height of bad manners to comment if someone uses the “wrong” fork, Royalty know that.

        So he was a rude, I’ll-mannered pretentious twat. I don’t care if you eat using your hands, as long as you enjoy it.

    • I prefer to invite myself along and if anything goes wrong, I’ve only got myself to blame for choosing the wrong meal for one.

  5. I roundly endorse this nomination, having had to endure one of these interminable bourgeois troughs myself at a neighbour’s house just before Christmas.

    Amongst others there was a lawyer, someone who’d been ‘high up’ in Tyne Tees TV, a charity knob end and some City chancer (a right cunt). Another one used to live in Switzerland, and another couple had 3 buy-to-let properties. I can only assume Mrs Twatt and I were invited along as token proles.

    Barely had the first glass of Prosecco been downed and mine host launched into an anti-Brexit tirade, heartily supported by all the other Waitrose wankers. I then had to suffer 4 sodding hours of Boris, Farage, Trump, Meloni, Le Pen, Wilders, the Tories, GB News, climate change, it’s our duty to house those poor, desperate migrants crossing the Channel (though obviously not in our back yard). On and on and on, while I dutifully kept my opinions to myself.

    Yes, 4 fucking hours, the only relief coming when Mrs Twatt, who is spectacularly incapable of reading the room, chipped in with ‘Well I rather like GB News’.

    You could have heard a pin drop.

    Fuck the lot of them. I’m going to be ill next time we’re invited.

    • An hilarious riposte, GT, and my hearty felicitations to Mrs Twatt and her hydraulic steam-hammer wit .
      But there`s no need to feign illness should there be a next time, for I have a small suggestion: All you need do is to bring a small box of party cake candles.
      Then, about halfway through the lobster course, take a crap on the dinner table.
      Stick a candle in the turd and light it – together with a fag – whilst singing The Sun Has Got His Hat On (stressing with fervour the particularly humorous `ɹǝɓɓᴉu` verse.
      Optionally, you can finish entertaining your hosts & other guests by extinguishing your cigarette in said turd with a graceful flourish (as I fear there will be no ashtray provided).
      Thus ensuring no repeat invitation and with the added advantage of Mrs Twatt no doubt being lost for words to further embarrass you.

      • Thank you for your suggestion Sam, though I think you may be going beyond what is necessary. Frankly, just singing with gusto the line ‘He’s been tanning Negr*es out in Timbuktu’ will probably be sufficient to turn me into a social pariah.
        Which would be a blessed relief.

        Incidentally, Mrs Twatt did not embarrass me. I laughed at her faux pas all the way home.

      • Christ on a bike!

        I’m laughing way to much at this elegant and discreet way of avoiding unwelcome invitations.

        Sound man!

    • Good for Mrs. Twatt, I think I am in love.

      There is such a disconnect between those who live in London and those who live outside and have to put up with all the house and giant warehouse building on decent farmland.

    • Do so, or it’ll be another 4 hours of life you’ve wasted.

      I would’ve fucked off after half an hour of that shit.

  6. Been there a few times. Never kept my mouth shut and never will. The reason we’re in this shit is that those kind of wankers shout their woke shite from the rooftops and the rest of us don’t. Well I do, and if the cunts don’t like it they can fuck right off.

      • Exactly right Fatjon – I am naturally polite but in the last few years I have taken great delight in baiting these type of cunts, the best one is asking them to explain what far-right means when they use the term – they just wibble on and in the end you have to say is, well, what you mean is you just don’t accept that anyone else is entitled to an opinion and may have more life experience than you. Another good one to use is when they tell you how musical or artistic their kids are, and you say that they basically can’t admit their kids are fucking thick.

  7. They should have served up Emily Thornberry on a big platter with an apple in her mouth and a sprig of asparagus in her arsehole. Dish of the day.

  8. When Kweer Stormer and his band of woke effnik brigands are elected to power the economic collapse should shut these deluded posh windbag cunts up.

    Reality is going to be a Nuclear Winter for these Right On Arseholes.

    Super tax on everything,a dystopian nightmare will unfold..

    Tofu Surprise and Grand Cru wines will all go out the window.

    It will all be Brexits fault of course,with a sprinkling of Donald Trump and the Far Right to help explain away their bullshit.

    Fuck Off.

    • Naturally I am absolutely never invited to dinner parties.

      The other guests strangely find my political views hard to palate.

      How odd.

      • It’s a strange concept, this middle class dinner party. The other half and I are definitely not middle class and we often have people round, but we don’t call it a dinner party. I don’t ask people to bring stuff either. I have often been told that I’m an excellent cook and I do try making new and sometimes quite complicated things, when I feel like doing so, but people we know seem to love things like Shepherds Pie or a steamed syrup sponge pudding. I don’t think people can really enjoy themselves if they are worried about what impression they are making, or have to pretend some weird unknown foodstuff is great.

      • Yeh Terry. On the positive side , you have the facilities to cook a large turkey in under 2 minutes. Every cloud and all that mate.

  9. Cannot stand all that’ mwah mwah oh so good to see you dahlings’ but then slagging them off behind their backs.
    False cunts.

    • Do you have to get dressed up for a dinner party?

      Is it smart casual or formal?
      And is there any games afterwards?

      • Black tie, Mis, unless there are ladies present, in which case it’s white tie.
        And remember, staring down the hostess’s cleavage as she serves the lobster bisque is a no-no.
        The post-prandial game for the gentlemen is billiards, never snooker and certainly not pool, perish the thought.

        Hope that helps.

      • Never had lobster Geordie.
        Always wanted to try it.

        One valentine’s day I took missus Miserable to a posh eyetie restaurant,
        They were advertising lobster!

        Missus Miserable said
        ” Oohh you’ve always wanted to try lobster”

        They’d run out.
        I had pizza.

      • You’re not missing much Mis. If it’s not cooked right then you might as well be eating a warm rubber dogs ball.

      • Ripped jeans and an Adolf Hitler European tour tee shirt should suffice Mis.
        If could bring Kier Starmers head on a platter too as a nice table centrepiece.

      • Nah, pair of jeans. T-shirt. Shorts in summer when there’s a BBQ.

        No games. Each dinner party I’ve been to has been an excuse for people to get arsehole drunk, with a bit of food in between to make them feel less guilty about it.

      • At what point in the evening is it good manners to begin a game of ‘hunt the sausage’ with one’s hostess or her daughter Geordie?

      • I’ve tried lobster and thought ‘meh’.

        then again I eat phalls thai food, stinking french cheese triple bacon cheeseburgers and ribeye steaks so it’s bound to be a bit bland.

        Eat like a Yank, drink like a Russian.

      • It’s a very ferociously spicy curry.

        The day after consuming one can be “challenging”..to use a Guardianism.

      • I love lobster, Cromer crab, scallops, crayfish, and Morecombe shrimps, which seem to have disappeared off this earth, for some reason.

      • Yeah don’t recommend it for those who don’t enjoy spicy food/foreign stuff.

        My dad can only eat Biryanis.

      • Depends, Mis.

        If it’s family, no.
        If it’s friends and just a get together, no.
        If it’s a wedding, and your giving the bride away or best man, scrub up and maybe a suit and tie.
        If it’s getting knighted, yes.

  10. Off topic –
    Just done a job today,
    A old bloke,
    Looked like a frail version of Larry David.

    Under his bed was loads of gay porn and some lube!😂😂

    We were giggling and taking the piss until we found a pair of undercrackers caked in shite.

    Not had any dinner today ☹️

  11. I can’t get on board with this cunting, I’m afraid. I have two sets of very left-leaning, Brexit-hating, green-loving, Men in Dresses-accepting friends, and they are truly fantastic people.

    Over the last four years, they’ve become fantastic pals despite our political differences.

    I’m currently going through some unbelievably hard times in my domestic and work life, and both groups have stepped up with checking in on me – most notably offering me a place to stay when it really kicked off at home a short while back.

    So, whilst the Guardianista nonsense is grating to listen to and the lack of self-awareness is at times mindboggling, the Mail and Express teeth-gnashing and hatred towards everyone and everything is capable of grinding Mr. Tickle down into a hardened, venom-spitting cynic who is unpleasant to be around.

    Horses for courses, innit? We all get on each others’ nerves. We all disagree on things. Ultimately, take people on how they treat you. It’s surprising who your real pals turn out to be when you’re really in the shit.

    I still have no Sootie, Daki, or Camel Enthusiast friends, though! 😁

      • Why do the septic have to copy everyone else and make a Town Hall’s of it. Alfred Hitchcock put in better on the Monitor programme, about being in your face and lacking in subtleties.

  13. You have my blessing to get torn into these monied glipes. Bloody their snouts and they will crawl back to the Caliphate.
    Give them old reverse white-flight one-two.

    • FA to do with money. Cunts are cunts and I know plenty of people with money who are not cunts and would take no shit from these woke turds.

  14. Thankfully I don’t get invited to these anymore.

    Mainly because I get shitfaced and tend to tell people what I actually think, from a well researched but totally inebriated point of view.

    Jocasta will faint, Timothy will turn puce with rage and the kid’s ears will need to be covered by the nanny if Tony Blair, Suckdick Khan, the labour party, illegal immigrants, trannies, benders, Joe dakis or jam spoons are mentioned.

    I do miss the low grade, but free cocaine for afters though.

    • I’m not having a dinner party tonight.

      I’m having a chippy an 2 cans of Boddies.

      An I’m wearing jeans, an a Motorhead♠️ t-shirt.

      My tuxedos at the cleaners.

      • Mrs Odin has got steak and chips for me tonight, washed down with four cans of whatever is on offer at Tesco.

    • I no longer get invited to dinner parties either, which suits me as I fucking hate most people.

  15. My brother in law and his wife fall into the middle class bracket. He’s from working class origins which he hates being reminded of and is if the worst type, pretend middle class.
    Anyway, two more materialistic, avaricious people you’d be hard pressed to meet, yet they are totally sold on lefty politics and believe Labour is the answer to everything.
    It never enters their heads that her parents money gave them their relatively comfortable lives, not Tony Blair.
    Needless to say, I avoid their dinner parties at all costs.

      • Absolutely. But these are the kind of people who’d lecture you on climate change and then ask you for a lift to Gatwick airport.
        Totally self unaware.

    • Not so much the conversation, CP, but the people watching.

      It’s sort of vomit inducing, car crash TV, but utterly fascinating. That “plus-sized” woman, with matching partner?

      He’s wearing this seasons xxxxl t-shirt with similar sized trackie bottoms.
      She’s wearing a size 14 lycra top she pinched from her daughters wardrobe, it’s neon pink, and a pair of leather leggings that are so tight, the surface is cracking.

    • Bit extreme General.

      A heavily loaded hash cake would do the trick.

      If anyone questions the flavour, tell them it’s ethically sourced Carob and then sit back and enjoy the chaos

  18. Good cunting. I despise these right on fuckwits. Even broken clocks work twice a day though, they’re correct in hating this current Government. Just for the wrong reasons.

  19. Yep, champagne socialism is alive and well amongst the elite who love to preach but never practice.

    I have a particular piss-boiler of a client, hugely wealthy with multiple homes around the world. She was lamenting to me about how awful it is that the main political parties are putting things like the economy ahead of climate change – “when are people going to realise they need to prioritise green issues ahead of money, oh it’s so depressing”.

    This cunt was saying this to me having just flown in the day before from Switzerland, where they have a chalet in Verbier (cos as we all know ski resorts have such a minuscule carbon footprint), to drive little Farquhar to Eton, before getting straight back on the jet back out to the Alps.

    All of these details notwithstanding, she said all this shit to me without a hint of irony, convinced I agreed with her that the environment trumped my being able to put bread on my table and feed my kids, and, dare I say it, aspire to have a bit of dosh myself, while she ponces around the world in gas guzzling aeroplanes and living in energy blitzing ski resorts telling us we should all live in a hut for the sake of the world.

    These bastards are the enemies of humanity acting like they’re the saviours of the world.

    • Climate activism is the fashionable hobby for our aristocracy.
      David de Rothschild loves it as well. the UN’s ‘climate hero’.

      What a load of disingenuous shit, like most climate activism the Just Stop Oil Cunts maintain part-financed by wealth derived from oil (the Getty family).

      Rich people pretending to have a conscience.

      • 100%. I’d also say that given that most of this draconian “you must mend your ways” narrative cascades straight out of Davos, that this is a case of rich people wanting to impoverish everyone else and hoarding all the goodies for themselves. And until now too many simpering idiots have fallen for it – albeit people are waking up to the horseshit of ULEZ, Net Zero, electric cars etc. There’s hope for us yet

      • It’s because a lot of these measures are built on sand, regardless of what you might think about climate cjhange as a phenomenon.
        Net Zero is a fantasy just as Lysenkoism was in the Soviet Union.
        They are entirely political and not based on scientific reality.

      • Check out the latest BBC propaganda to prove your point – Trans Men’s Breast Milk is actually healthier for babies than biological female’s milk.

        If you can’t get those that swallow this shit to understand that this is fucking with people on the basis of utter delusions, they are a lost cause.

      • ”And the meek shall inherit the earth,but not the mineral rights” JP Getty.(Very dodgy bloodline) satanic and such.

  20. Fuck the Hoi Polloi and their fancy dinner parties.

    Any British cunter who visits America is invited to the Cuntster Villa for a barbeque.

    Attire: Wear whatever the fuck you want.

    Menu: Barbecued ribs, smoked chicken and grilled pork*, black eyed peas, corn on the cob, collard greens, cornbread and fresh berry cobbler.

    Drinks: You are of course free to bring your own but we serve cold beer and soda pop (Which we drink right out of the bottle. No Bud – fucking – light!) as well as coffee and iced tea (it’s a southern thing.)

    Music is a mix of old school rock (including early rock and roll, rockabilly and classic rock) as well as old school country (Hank Williams, Buck Owens and others).

    After dinner: Cigars and bourbon (or Tennessee Whiskey of your prefer).

    Guests: All are welcome regardless of race, creed, color, gender, shoe size yada yada yada…UNTIL they start with the woke/victim/DEI/One World bullshit…at which point they will be asked (politely) to leave.

    If they do not leave…stronger measures may be employed.

    A game of catch (baseball or American Football) can always be arranged. And for you foreigners, the field out behind the Villa is large enough for a friendly geriatric football match.

    Also, for those so inclined there’s a makeshift shooting range. You don’t even have to bring your own guns or ammo ’cause we have plenty!

    NOTE: We provide Biden and Obama targets as well as various celebretard and shitholian targets. However, if you want, Abbot, Starmer or Lineker targets you’re on your own as they are not readily available here in the states.

    Come as you are and bring the family as a good time will be had by all.

    *I hope we don’t offend any Jewish centers but it does keep the radical carpet kissing Caliphate types away.

    • Count me in General – I shall smuggle through customs the box of 25 Romeo Y Julietas I have been keeping for the perfect occasion, I can imagine no better place or people to enjoy them with

    • Sounds like a right laugh, General.

      I’d love to meet you in person but sadly ill health is keeping me UK bound.

      However, should you ever find yourself stranded, through some kind of catastrophic misfortune, in the UK, you’re more than welcome to come and stay with me.

    • Sorry for the delayed response.

      Dave,

      Done deal! You and your cigars are both welcome and we look forward to meeting you!

      Cuntamus,

      Wild Turkey is always a favorite…101 of course. And a rib eye can be arranged…seasoned and grilled to your taste.

      UT,

      You are welcome any time my friend!

      Jeezum,

      Ditto and thanks for the invite. By the way…I get the health remark. I was “doctoring” today (as they say down south).

      To the whole of the IsaC Faithful,

      My invention extends to ALL cunters…even those I’ve…had words with.

      • How could I forget our illustrious Admin Team?

        Dear Team,

        1. Please write up your application to attend a Cunster Villa Bar-B-Q.

        2. Make it clear who you want to attend.

        3. Too short an application will result in rejection.

        4. Too long an application will result in rejection.

        5. We have final say over the application process.

        6. Please pay attention to grammar and spelling. We are not the Head Master of whatever hoi polloi, elitist boarding school mummy and pah-pah sent you to.

        7. We reserve the right to ban any Admin Team member who violates our unwritten rules.

  21. ‘middle class dinner parties’

    there can be no other. the way i look at it the people with real money like to show it in public so dont have dinner parties at home. they flaunt their wealth by going with their equally wealthy friends to some difficult to get a reservation michelin starred restaurant, or at the other end scum class dont have dinner parties, but would do maybe a birthday party at home with a bucket of chicken and a load of other shit from iceland…or they just sit around the telly wish crap fast foot on their laps.

    so the only class that would genuinely have a dinner party in the true sense of the word would only be the middle classes….who like the nom alludes to is thought of as being in someway ‘posh’

    • Flaunting money is the opposite of posh.

      City boys might do that, footballers and twats who want to be ‘seen’ might do that, the vulgarians.

      If Lord Jonathan Sumption KC were to invite me to dinner at his chateau, I doubt he’d order a delivery of fried chicken.

      ‘Oh KFC for a KC… I get ya’.

    • I dunno.

      I have family round for a Sunday roast, is that a “middle class” dinner party.
      We usually have a pudding.

  22. Only ever been to one middle class dinner party.
    Late 1970s, watered down wine, duck à l’orange,
    Eurgh!
    Don’t get me wrong, love some nice crispy duck me, but not marinated in orange fucking squash!
    Never again.
    Got an invited to a chav dinner party a few years back.
    Decided to accept, see how the other half lives.
    Guests had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to dress for the occasion.
    One chap had his finest market stall joggers and Hawaiian shirt on.
    The beached whale by his side wore some truly hideous lurid pink “leisure suit” straining at the stitches over her bloated form.
    Naturally I wore my deceased old man’s regimental dress uniform.
    Main course: burgers and chips, (“no salad….we don’t eat that muck”).
    No cutlery, in went their snouts, elbows on the table, stuffing their grotesque faces, chewing with their mouths open,
    Wiping greasy lips on sleeves and backs of hands, slurping Lidl lager.
    Gave me fits when one of the bairn’s present burned it’s mouth on the hot cheese in the middle of a burger!
    Don’t get me wrong, I’m no snob.
    But reckon if they ever used a knife they would hold it like a pen.
    A sure-fire sign of ill-breeding.
    If I noticed a guest at one of my exclusive dinner parties holding a knife like a pen, I would order them to leave immediately.
    It would be the kindest thing for them.
    That type would obviously feel more at home dining at “Maccy D’s” than at one of my imaginary, silver service, haute cuisine dinner parties.
    Fuck them.

  23. The only posh dinner I went to was with proper aristo’s, I kid you not the solid gold cutlery belonged to the Archduke Ferdinand and was gifted to the hostesses grandmother the host was a Commander on HMS Brittania and there were personally signed photographs of big Liz II adorning the antique sideboard, everytime I took a swig of my G&T it was topped up and I came out on what felt like bloody rollerskates a very convivial evening and as far as I can remember I didn’t put me foot in me gob once, but they were old fashioned types with a broad sense of humour.

    • I actually find that the genuinely rich do have a wonderful sense of humour.
      They can afford it!

      Badaboom!

      I’ll get my coat.

  25. Ah, out of towners who know best and like to lord it over the peasants and show off with their dinner parties.

    The cunts are everywhere around my way. All escaping the caliphate of Londonistan.

    I loathe them as much as the mud slimes, parking Stanley’s and MPs. Especially Lib Dem’s.

  26. Have been to a few. But only once. Apparently farting is offensive. At the table.
    Bay windowed, hoity toity cunts.

  27. Technocunt has the patience of a saint. I may have vomited on them as soon as they started spouting.

  28. I went to one many years ago and after drinking the finger-bowl I rinsed my fingers off in the clear-soup.
    The look on their faces !
    Mind you they looked very apprehensive when the Viz Bottom Inspectors turned up unannounced.

  29. The only good middle class dinner parties are the ones where you put your car keys in a bowl at the start

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