It was murder in the Parrot household yesterday. Almost literally. It was the night of one of our occasional parties, one we had planned to hold last month — a Midsummer Murder.
No, we didn’t buy one of those Host a Murder packs where you have to send out invites, everyone has to dress up and role-play toffs or gangsters or whatever. We have enough trouble pretending to be who we really are without struggling into an uncomfortable alter-ego.
Instead, we plumped for these people, Dining with Death, a group of am-drams who do all the role-playing for you, sparing your embarrassment.
We started early so that our guests would have a chance of solving the crime before the alcohol kicked in to blur rational thought. In a nutshell, there was an off-site murder to solve by quizzing the cast of five, culminating in a very dramatic on-site murder. I won’t go into the detail, except to say that both involved nicotine poisoning and not from smoking too many fags.
Everyone seemed to enjoy putting their sleuthing skills to work and the top detective to work out both the killer and their motive was none other than Master Parrot who now has a framed certificate to attest to his deductive powers.
Meanwhile, it was a bit too bright and warm as we set about clearing up the mess this morning. I’m sure the alcohol played its part in a general feeling of unwellness, but not getting to bed until 4am couldn’t have helped.
Murder? It might come as a blessed relief.