A t-shirt with my favourite band or ale on it, and some fantastic long denim shorts I picked up from Sports Direct for an absolute steal.
I'd go for smart but approachable, like a footballer in court on a GBH charge.
Something crisply ironed and slightly aggressive, like a polo shirt with all the buttons done up or a retro shirt of my favourite football team that I accidentally paid over the odds for on eBay WHICH IS FINE AND I WANTED IT ANYWAY.
Imagine that famous picture of Justin and Britney in their all-denim. Yes please.
One of those rubber horse heads and a trench coat. That way, I'm the talking point of the party and everybody wants a piece of me.
A straw inserted into a coconut. But what's in that coconut? You'll never know. That's just part of my mystique.
Mint Baileys. Neat.
I'll be keeping it session... until I don't, at which point I will cause a future shame hangover by going absolutely mad and sitting on tables. Seriously though, someone will probably need to help me home.
Whatever's going mate, I'll hammer it down.
I'll stick to session ales unless it's been a particularly bad day. In which case, rum and diet coke, which I will drink quickly and sadly.
Oh don't worry, I brought my set list. I just hope you can handle it.
I'm going to play five hours of Zappa, Queen and Lou Reed. And then I'm going to play it all over again.
You won't have heard of them.
Get ready for a trip.... BACK TO THE NINETIES. Or failing that the sixties. Either way, this is going to be wild.
An audiobook of Dan Brown's "Digital Fortress", read by Angela Rippon.
You laugh quietly. It's all good fun, as long as it doesn't get out of hand.
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT. CUT ME AND WATCH ME BLEED BLUE AND WHITE."
Tell a funny anecdote and hope that they realise you are actually really well-dressed, so the joke about your team's supporters not being well-dressed is stupid, actually, and later you will go into the toilet and write on the forums about how well-dressed you are whilst singing quietly to yourself.
This situation is not possible, as you are too much of an enigma for anyone to know your sportsball team.
You stand there, silent and completely still, until they disperse.
Find common ground and then release the anecdotes. They'll be putty in my hands... plus if anything goes wrong I'll have an anecdote for another time!
I'll play it cool. I'm sure we have mutual friends or common ground.
The trick to making people feel at ease with you is to stand as close as possible to them, but to talk in a low mumble. That way they know you have a personality.
I'll chat, but I'll throw in a random reference to Queen or Zappa to see if they get it. I'm not venturing into my mindpalace for chitchat ideas for just ANYONE.
Please. They'll be the ones trying to make conversation with me.
This could go one of two ways. There's an 80% chance I underplay it and act very casually, resulting in under thirty seconds of casual chat. I'd be ok with this though. There's a 20% chance I overplay it, and reveal that I know their second child's middle name. I would rather this did not happen.
Just raise an eyebrow from across the room. They'll know what I mean.
My hammer hero is an actual hammer. So I would talk to it about nails and the like.
It depends when this takes place. Early doors, I'm going to be shy and bashful. But later on... well I won't remember anything except being led away from them.
I think I'd be fine around them, then once we'd got properly talking I'D SHOW THEM MY TATTOO OF THEIR FACE.
The coleslaw. I actually brought some of my own in case there wasn't enough, so I'll get my wife to put ours in her bag and we can have it later.
If I've got a gig tomorrow then I'll load up on chips. If not, or if I need to cleanse, bring on the spice.
You'll never see me eat, you'll just have to assume that it happens.
The duck eggs.
I will eat anything I want. I AM FOOD LEGEND. I will later regret this attitude.
Stay until the bitter end. Don't worry, I won't make any trouble. I'll just sit in the corner with my rum.
I'm off, but instead of taking the tube home I'll turn right. Who knows what sexy adventures await me?
I left half an hour ago to go to a cooler party. I didn't invite you.
Someone will have to pour me into an Uber. I'll arrive home four hours later, with no memory of where I went. Needless to say, when I wake up the next morning my jeans will be in the sink.
I'll be on the roof with my glider, ready to launch off into that fair mistress the sky.
Pretty hungover, but to be honest I'm used to larging it so this was to be expected.
Deeply, deeply ashamed. I don't remember doing anything bad, but I'm sure I probably did. I'll text everyone just in case.
I've already gone back out, to a speakeasy that you won't have heard of.
Probably quite sad and nostalgic, based on absolutely nothing. I'll think about escaping the noise of life but end up just watching clips on YouTube.
Wet. I got stuck in the English Channel.
My favourite team are playing in Prague (don't ask why just accept they are), so it's tickets for me and all my friends to go. There's free entry and drinks for every bar in town, and we're staying at the same hotel as the players. Yes. Please.
A rare album from my favourite band, a crate of session ales, two interesting t-shirts, a first edition copy of my favourite book of poetry, and what's that... a farthing? Quallo.
I can't tell you. It would be too powerful for your tiny mind to comprehend.
Betting slips, an egg protector, and a fully-charged mobile phone.
A vintage football shirt, a coal mining experience day, and an autobiography of the first Welsh footballing communist.
You simply have to be these days.
Yes, and I use it to respond to ANYONE who criticises the show. I just want to know why.
No, I don't know what that is.
Over 60% of business is done via email these days.
I am, but I'm not telling you my email address.