my fantasy dinner

Have, in many ways, gone off humans completely over the last few months.

Humanity, in general, I think, is the root of my hibernation and wanting to flee for something more interesting and cultured at the moment. I’ve been in this awful ‘phase’ for almost a year now.

It’s really dragging on.

Generally, I’m just fed up with humanity at the minute. I’m only really enjoying a few prize specimens, and it made me think hard about the ‘If You Had A Dinner Party’ question.

The generic ‘who would you invite if you could invite anybody’ one.

Well. This is how it would be:

1) Bridget Jones.

Bridget is my favourite non-real person on the planet. Honestly, I think about Bridget on an almost-daily basis. Mostly just comparing our misfit lives, and reminding me to always have a sense of humour about it. I relate to Bridget in a very affable way. When she comes for dinner, (‘I am wearing. A carpet’), that’s what she’ll say. We’ll be instant best friends.

2) Richard Hammond.

He’s hot. I’m in love. He makes my heart sing. And I’m owed a meeting with him anyway. Surely Karma (Esq?) should be working on this?

3) The person I love.

The one I really love. He should definitely be there.

4) Marie D’Agniel D’assignet de Bourbon.

French Royal. Had head chopped off when she didn’t give the peasants cake. My great great grandmother.

That’s right, and I’ll say it until my face is as blue as the blood in my veins: I am French Royalty. Watered down. To the point where I can’t claim French citizenship. Damn my ancestors for exploring Africa then settling and procreating here to the detriment of our EU passports. Damn them.

5) The Universe.

If indeed he’s a tangible thing. I see the Universe as a male, for some ungodly – quite – reason. The Universe to me is nature-slash-Jesus and/or Buddha and/or God and/or guardian angels and/or whoever might be listening, rolled into one. We have things to discuss, the Universe and I. So he’d better bloody pitch up.

6) Marilyn Monroe.

She was great.

7) Sergey Brin and 8) Larry Page.

They practically created the Internet as far as I’m concerned. Or at least made it accessible to most.

9) Eddie Izzard.

So he can regale us with stories about flans, British camping sites and the French. Which might piss my royal ancestor off, but then that’s half the fun.

10) Nelson Mandela.

It’s become quite de rigueur to invite Madiba to fantasy dinner parties. Trendy more than anything, but the man is filled with insane iconism and history, and I have been fortunate to have met him. Twice.

The first time was when I was 16; it was Dad’s doing, he was involved in the Freedom of the Town memorial day with him. I started crying like a proper girl when he shook my hand, and back then I didn’t quite fully understand the impact this man had had on our personal history. Yet, he still had this thing about him that was overwhelmingly special. The second time was more frenzied, at a press conference a few years ago. So he has to come.

11)(In case someone can’t make it) Nikita Khrushchev.

He led the Cold War. Stalin is too evil to be invited to a dinner party, but Khrushchev, now there’s a communist whose brain I’d like to pick. I have a morbid fascination with Communism. My first novel (unpublished and hand written), was a decidedly Marxist tale. He’d be a slice; I mean what the fuck was he thinking when he ordered that the Berlin Wall be built? (For example?)

Right. I’m off this arvy to the Ant’s wedding in Clarens. I’m excited about being her bridesmaid, and more than anything, I’m excited for her.