Which dreaded British social obligation makes you want to fake your own death?

Two nights in Krakow with women you've met twice, penis straws, and a WhatsApp group that won't stop pinging. Your overdraft weeps.

Pretending to be devastated that Karen from accounts is moving to Reading, while calculating how early you can sneak out without seeming rude.

Sweating in a paper crown while your aunt asks why you're still single and your cousin's children destroy the living room. Pass the Baileys.

Listening to Tarquin's mum brag about his violin grade while you nod and silently fume about the PTA WhatsApp drama.

Flying to Tuscany so two people you vaguely know can get married barefoot. £1,200 later, you're eating a lukewarm canapé at 11pm.