Monday night saw Tufnell Park Towers' first ever installment of Dinner Club.
Oh buggerit. I've gone and broken the first rule of Dinner Club right there: you do not talk about Dinner Club. Crap! And the second one too, come to think of it.
But well, as John Humphrys declines to say, I've started so I'll finish.
The concept of Dinner Club is simple. Each Monday, one of the Tufnell Park Towers residents cooks and lays on booze for the other two, plus a guest of the cook's choice. It is the job of the two cooked-for residents to think up some surreal and bizarre topics of conversation to bamboozle the unsuspecting guest with. It is the duty of the cooked-for resident who isn't cooking the next Monday to wash up.
Our guest for the inaugural Dinner Club was Reggae's friend Adam, who Louise... erm... met (ahem) at our houseparty the other week. Louise, who was cooking, dished up a supreme bangers and mash with onion and red wine gravy, and I had prepared The Films of Patrick Swayze as my conversational masterclass.
I think that if we recorded these mealtimes, there would be a good chance that BBC2 would show them in the post-Newsnight slot, to meet their "surreal yet cultural" output targets (which yes, they do have). Louise would be the gobby Tracey Emin character, I would be the understated but occasionally 'wacky' Paul Merton type, and Reggae would be the standup comedian of the sort that is asked to comment on those Best Comedy TV Moments of 2004 on Channel 5 but who you've never actually heard of before.
As we sat down to eat and I'd established that Adam had seen Roadhouse and was willing to take my word that Youngblood is Swayze's finest picture, Reggae commented on the high quality of the sausages Louise had provided.
"That's because I went to Waitrose, not Morrisons like I know you will, you cheap bastard."
"Oh yes, don't you worry about that. Why should I spend good money feeding you two nobbers?" was Reggae's retort.
"And whilst we're on it," Louise continued, "will you stop buying that horrible Morrisons' cheapest bog roll that's like tracing paper, you scabby kant."
"Come now," I interjected. "Our guest isn't here to discuss German philosophy. Tell me Adam: City of Joy. The beginning of the end?"
The washing up safely done, later that evening I filled in Beloved about Dinner Club's establishment and subsequent overall success.
"Huw," she asked, "is it really you doing all the cooking, when you think it's Louise and Reggae?"
This was a good point, and gave me pause for thought. If so, this has some rather alarming implications for my relationship with Adam.
So anyhow, not this coming Monday but next, I'm the chef. Do my housemates get:
Thai Green Curry?
Or do I get practising on my Penne Alfredo?
Readers. You decide.
Remember my September 12th posting? Well, it seems like I'm not the only one to make the to blog/to dog connection.
5 weeks ago