The dinner party conundrum

Gandhi: "Aww, crap. Not another dinner party"

It's that age old philosophical question: If you could invite three figures from history to a dinner party, who would you choose?

And this is where I feel sorry for people like Gandhi, Joan of Arc and Jesus, because they're doomed to spending their entire life in the hereafter attending dull dinner parties with unimaginative hosts and the same small circle of A-List celebrity stiffs.

Even the stoical Gandhi's heart must sink when he turns up at another front door in suburbia to see Hitler's jacket, swastika arm-band winking at him like the evil eye, hanging from the coat hook. Christ's endless well of forgiveness is surely running dry as he finds he's been sat to a hedge fund manager from Surbiton, and he'd commit actual murder for a KFC bargain bucket instead of fucking sea bass again.

"You realise the whole fisherman thing is symbolic," Jesus protests, but the hedge fund manager won't shut the fuck up about the profit he'll turn in his latest asset stripping adventure. Jesus makes a note to pass on the the people at the gates of heaven: "Don't let this one in. 100% twat."

That's why - if posed with the dinner party question - I'd steer well away from the A-Listers and go for a threesome a bit further down the food chain. In fact, I'd invite notable bastards from history, in the hope that they might turn on each other, I get to throw them out, and finish the whole ordeal as early into the evening as possible. So:

Idi Amin Dada: All-round bastard and ruler of Uganda between 1971-1979. Said to have had an interest in cannibalism and the painful death of his enemies. I'd like to force feed him Buckie and Irn Bru, just to make him realise the folly of his keenness for ruling Scotland.

Dr Harold Shipman: Said to be Britain's worst serial killer, although what the press actually means is 'best', because he seemed to be rather good at it. I'd like him to check out my feet, then accidentally kick him in the face.

Thomas Midgley Jr: You may not have heard of him, but he is the inventor of both lead in petrol and CFCs in aerosol cans. His inventions lead to the poisoning of millions and the slow destruction of our ozone layer, contributing largely to the climate change we are experiencing today. He also invented a contraption to help get him out of bed, which killed him. One eulogy says he "had more impact on the atmosphere than any other single organism in Earth's history", which is probably not an overstatement. I'd like to talk to him about a couple of small matters.

Amin: "Yer me best pal, hic"

Now, sane people would be wondering why I've invited a cannibal, a mass murderer and the worst person in the world round my place for a nice little dinner party in commuter-belt Hampshire. It's quite simple. I was going to make them three delightful courses of the finest Waitrose-based cuisine, all heavily garnished with their own shit, because fuck those dead guys.

And that's my ideal dinner party.

P.S. In case one of these three devils cries off for any reason:

Reserve place-setting: Ron

Ron: "I swear on my life somebody hacked my account and ordered two big pink wobbly blancmanges in the shape of a lady's bosoms."