A perfect dinner party? Just one interesting person – preferably me

Diane “coppers for coppers” Abbott, below, is my local MP in Hackney and my husband has insisted on putting a Vote Labour sign in the front window, lest we get drummed out of the Tolpuddle Martyrs or whatever. I know, I know. But marriage is all about knowing when to choose your battles, just as running for Home Secretary is knowing the difference between £300,000-worth of bobbies on the beat and a clip round the ear.

Frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t had her round for dinner, although if she’s planning on paying police officers £30 a year, I think whatever cheapskate bottle she brings will go straight to the school raffle. It doesn’t take a Jean-Claude Juncker to ruin an atmosphere. Or indeed create one. Almost any single person can wilt the spinach long before it’s gone into the steamer, which is why selecting the dramatis personae is an art, not a science. I’m always baffled by people who witter on about who their dream dinner-party guests would be. Sir David Attenborough is usually on there and I can understand why, but seated next to Joan Rivers and Churchill? Marilyn Monroe for the chaps; Ryan Gosling for the ladies – all nice in theory, but what on earth would they talk about?

And who would get a word in edgeways once they were in full flow declaiming about sloth bears and Jewish porn and commanding the armed forces and the perils of typecasting?

It’s a rookie mistake to invite too many interesting people to supper. Usually there should be just the one, and preferably that one would be me. But if I’m not available, or am weirdly not invited, newbies would do well to remember that dinner is not the same as The Graham Norton Show.

Like pairings of food and wine, it requires thought and imagination all carefully tied up with a ribbon of social engineering.

Oh, and don’t worry if the guests make snarky remarks about each other afterwards; it’s only considered a failure if they mention the food.

Bon appetit.