During the summer last year we went round to some friends of ours for a dinner party. Yes, a dinner party – now that I have reached my thirties, I no longer have the desire to frequent sweaty nightclubs of a Saturday night, downing expensive, sticky drinks and being much, much too close to the dripping unwashed masses.
So being unrelenting and incurably middle class, I now spend Saturday nights with friends, supping fine wines and discussing the issues of the day (I say that, but this particular dinner party ended up being somewhat rowdy, with broken glasses and minor chaos – we eventually left our host in the early hours with an uncontrollable bout of booze-induced hiccups).
Anyway, I digress. I bring up the whole dinner-party thing because I noticed on that particular evening that our host had a rather fancy-pants set of scales which gave you the ;