I find hoovering the hosts single malt, whilst talking loudly about methods of preventing the great unwashed from migrating into the country from the inner cities a worthwhile opening gambit in rural Hampshire.
Funny thing is, I only ever get invited once..............
maybe it's because all future correspondence has 'RESTRAINING ORDER' written in the top left hand corner, and no mention of clubs in the bottom left hand corner.
Although to be fair, I don't think the restraining order refers to my opening gambit. I'm pretty sure it may have been my return from the lavatory, naked except for a necktie, shouting 'whoop whoop, you're a very foxy lady Mrs Frobisher' as I licked my lips and tossed a set of Vauxhall Corsa keys into the centre of the lounge.
I also have some recollection of a spaniel and polythene, but that bit is a little hazy!