I have visions of a camera slowly panning down a queue of men in bow ties and women in long evening dresses before pausing at the chap in a one piece clown suit and curly orange wig perched atop a white face with his bright red mouth painted into a scary grin. Everyone seemingly ignores this distractive element to an otherwise formal but relaxed evening little knowing that beneath the sang froid a pressure is building and ready to explode. Which of course it then did and over went the chicken drum sticks, the cocktail sausages and profiteroles. Up flew the vol-au-vaunts, the salmon and cucumber sandwiches cut into triangles with the crust removed. Away went the punch as punch after punch was thrown this way and that by Krusty the Klown on the one hand and assorted red faced cruisers on the other. Only the crew’s swift work deploying liberal doses of CS gas and buckshot enabled a semblance of order to be finally restored.
A spokesperson for P&O said later, "Well, none of us saw that coming."
A spokesperson for P&O said later, "Well, none of us saw that coming."
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