I shall be celebrating my nonentity status in the kitchen, slaving away over seared fois gras to start, slow cooked lamb with tomato and rosemary risotto for the main, and some incredibly unsophisticated but very alcoholic trifle to follow. Hey - it's my party. Wine will be a cheeky new world red, with some 1977 Port and aged stilton to follow.

From the kitchen, I will be enjoying listening to the courtly banter of Geoffrey Chaucer, who will be telling us how the traits of all the people he's met in the 21st century appear just as they were in the 14th century. Philip Marlowe will be telling scurrilous stories of the spikes and stews of Elisabethan England, and clearing up some of the more outlandish rumours about his demise to Alan Moore, who most certainly knows the score.

Even though he's entirely fictitious, Stephen Maturin will be endeavouring to calm down his somewhat boisterous friend, Jack Aubrey, who perhaps has over-indulged somewhat - doubtless encouraged by Raymond Chandler and Winston Churchill, who have unexpectedly found they have three "A's" in common - Anglophilia, Americaphilia and alcoholism.

Amelia Earhart is talking aircraft with James Stewart, Mickey Martin and Johnnie Johnson listening in.

Benefitting greatly by still being alive, David Bowie is struggling to recall the making of "Station to Station" to Kate Bush and David Attenborough who is convincing in his argument that Bowie isn't a chameleon as he blatantly doesn't have zygodactylous feet or a tongue greater than the length of his body.
"late night actress" Laura Jones is serving drinks and hopefully staying on to help me clear up.

So who's coming to your bash?