I’m relieved to say that the trips to casualty have stopped, but any party that I throw is almost always fated to go horribly wrong.

The most recent disaster was our house warming party back in December. My housemates and I went to different schools and different universities so we thought that this would be the perfect occasion to mix everyone together. In theory, this was an ingenious idea, in reality it was a catastrophe.

We’d invited an equal ratio of girls to boys, but about 90% of the people who turned up were girls. We’d set a lame theme, and the brave people who turned up in costume were made to feel humiliated all evening. Small groups of people assembled in separate corners of the flat and made no effort to talk to any of the others.

I helplessly drifted between the groups trying to muster some sort of chit-chat but it was a pitiful effort and a pitiful party.With nothing better to do, I resorted to gulping down everyone’s half empty glasses. This really was agony.

In  an effort to ease the deadly atmosphere I logged on to Spotify hoping that the website would create a hip playlist. How wrong I was.

Several hours later when the party was at its flattest and only a few loyal friends remained our doorbell rang. The previous night I had attended a raving house party hosted by some impossibly cool French students. As I was thrown across the kitchen, dancing ‘Le Rock’ with a very attractive boy, I casually mentioned that I was throwing an equally cool party the following night. I then went home, went to bed, and did not think anymore about it. That is until the doorbell rang.

As I gingerly opened the door, I was greeted by two Gallic hunks. If only I could have run away and hid, but I was forced to take the two boys up to our flat. By this stage the Spotify playlist had slowed down to some more mellow beats, and as we crossed the threshold, our ears were greeted by Cliff Richard singing The Lord’s Prayer. It was like walking into a Bible bashing cult.

Needless to say the beaux garcons did not stay for long. Needless to say, I never heard from either one again.

The only redeeming feature of the whole painful evening was when my friend Karen stated:

That was the best lame party ever!