OK, here's something for you to ponder over lunch - a familiar old conundrum.
Who would you invite to your dream Christmas dinner (or Christmas lunch, as the Daily Telegraph has it: 'this is not the Daily Star')?
OK, me first.
Decca Mitford: muckraking journalist, civil rights crusader, communist, friend of the Black Panthers, brilliant and witty writer, liked a drink. Eloped to the Spanish Civil War, aged 18, with Churchill's nephew.
Terry Pratchett. Obviously.
RS Thomas. Though he's a bit gloomy and you'd have to get him hammered before he cheered up (though one biographer claimed he was hilarious). Think of him as a fleshy Welsh Marvin the Paranoid Android.
Bjork. She'd bring roasted puffin and you could wind her up by wondering out loud where Lady Gaga got her ideas from.
William Morris. Big fat cheery lefty artistic genius. Guaranteed to provide comedy crackers.
Alexei Sayle. Clever, funny, Jewish lefty. In fact, much as I imagine Jesus before his PR team (aka Catholicism) got hold of him.
Michel Montaigne. Very clever man, liked good grub and a drink.
For festive illumination, Michael Gove doused in paraffin, on a spit.
Live music from El Vez, the Mexican Elvis. His 'Feliz Navidad' is one of my very favourite songs.
OK, your turn.