I have never really enjoyed large cocktail parties. I find them a bastard form of entertaining. One gets a drink, tries all the little dabs of food (I have coined a word for them: doots), spends some time chatting with one group, then says to himself mechanically, it’s time to move on and circulate. Often I get stage fright, walk through the room, bow or speak to those I know, and deposit my drink and leave fifteen minutes later. Smaller parties can be fun, but when social debts are paid in the form of an annual crush, the guests can only feel oppressed and bored. We are all doomed to attend
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