Flipping burgers for 20 friends went down a treat.
Let's get this straight: I'm no book worm (well maybe just a little) but I'm also no party animal.
I love socialising, as long as it is in small doses, not on a school night and organised by someone else. Lazy? Yup. You bet.
Given this context, I felt a little bewildered last Sunday night to find myself popping corks and flipping burgers for 20 of my friends who'd come over for a "very small, very-low key BBQ for a couple of mates".
The quotation marks are what's important here, because for me, small and low key does quite literally mean just a couple of mates.
But the problem with today's busy world is that in order to get a couple of mates over at relatively short notice, you have to invite just about everyone you know.
Or so I thought.
In the past when organising get-togethers with friends, I've always invited the exact number of people whom I really want to be there.
The list is a careful construct of numbers vs friend dynamics and existing connections and - should the list arrive in its entirety - is calculated to result in the perfect social engagement for all those concerned.
But as we all know there is a socially accepted formula for invitations, that goes something along the lines of: to get X number of guests at any one event, invite XXXX number of people, expect XXX number of replies, of which XX say they'll come, with a final turnout (less those who cancel 30 minutes prior to event when you've already brought your marinated steaks) of precisely X number of people - perfect.
According to this theory, I sent a text inviting 20 people to my BBQ last Sunday, expecting about four to actually come.
By mid-afternoon all 20 had replied and all of them to say they would absolutely be there.
For someone who loves lazy Sundays and takeaway pizza, this was more than a little startling.
Did we even own 20 chairs? If not, could we get away with staging a pass-the-parcel game with those slow to take their seats after the music stopped having to remain standing?
Not wanting to seem contrived, we didn't put out any seats beyond those already outside, and just kept producing more from inside like a magician pulling rabbits from a hat until the courtyard was awash with unmatched chairs and an equally-varied collection of bottoms sitting on them.
In a bid to keep it casual, I'd advised everyone to bring an unspecified plate, which proved a master-stroke because thanks to some kindness on the part of the God of Impulsive Parties, a variety of plates arrived to cater for every course, all of them with food on top. Bonus.
Although the lazy entertainer in me had baulked at the idea of entertaining so many friends at short notice, in the end it turned out to be a far better night than many of the parties I'd meticulously staged, partly because I'd set aside the control-freak in me and simply accepted that what would be, would be.
Thanks to an amazing collection of friends, the dishes were done and the plates that arrived heaped with food several hours earlier had all vanished with their owners by 11pm.
My accidental party had been a success, and I'd like to say because of me, but almost undoubtedly it was despite me.