Special in-depth Chickenhat Round-up

Now that we are firmly entrenched in the holiday season like a puppy in quicksand, the average person will find their party attendance rising by a factor of at least plenty. Family get-togethers, New Year’s parties, work shindigs and soirees held by desperate religious organisations are just some of the possible evenings out that Christmas holds, and historically these have been terrible, depressing affairs.

But last year, a gap appeared in the clouds of holiday party boredom, and the sunlight shone through in the form of the hit party game, Chickenhat.

For people who spent the last 12 months in a womb, I will briefly explain. Chickenhat is a game like Pass the Parcel: while music plays, a circle of people pass a roast chicken from head to head. When the music stops, the person with the chicken on their head gets to take a piece and eat it. The game continues until no meat is left on the bird, and everyone is full of fowl.

Chickenhat was such a resounding success last year that greasy hair became a mark of pride for some people, and it was completely normal to see people in the street with drumsticks behind their ears. The game was an international success, with fans including the Pope, Ricky Martin and the King of Gambia, who now refuses to eat anything that hasn’t first sat on his head.

Flushed with the success of the Chickenhat phenomenon, many companies have released expansion packs and accessories for the game, which I will explore for you now.

Possibly the most eagerly awaited Chickenhat product is the Official Extended Rules System Book, created and released by the Official World Chickenhat League. Several dozen new variations are included in this guide, from the much-loved Welsh Lladdybhoy Chickenhat (in which the bird is filled with melted cheese) and the Swiss version (in which dropping the chicken from one’s head to the floor is punishable by expulsion from the game and stoning). I loved trying out these different rules, especially Speed Chickenhat, which uses the smaller Scots Dumpy breed for ultra-quick games. A word of warning, though: Combat Chickenhat is for experts only. My friends and attempted to play this variation in my living room, and while it was fun for a while, the game had to be suspended after several hundred pounds of damage was created and one competitor became pregnant. That aside, the plethora of new games to try out will brighten any Chickenhat aficionado’s day.

Travel Chickenhat has been released by MG Games for Chickenhatters on the go. I will admit, I can’t see the appeal of playing the game while in a car, ferry or plane, but addicts may well like it. All the essential accessories are included in this kit, including gizzard net and giblet dice. Plus there’s an adaptor for in-flight airplane meals, which is rubbish.

Warner Brothers have made an official Chickenhat Compilation Album, featuring songs to play while engaged in a poultry headwear party. With songs such as Got a Chicken on my Head (Yay!) by Miley Cyrus and Pullet Frenzy by Parson and the Noses, this is a great collection of music to play – stop – eat some chicken – play – stop – eat some chicken.

A quick warning now, to be wary of the many different non-official Chickenhat knockoffs out there. Grousehat, Goosehat, Swanhat and Toasthat are all vastly inferior games, with vague rules, poor equipment and – in the case of Swanhat – the danger of serious neck damage. Avoid.

Finally, Chickenhat: The Fowl Play Board Game is just as much fun as the original game, and allows anyone to play Chickenhat, even if they are unable to play the game proper due to, for example, having a pointy head. Players roll the dice and move their chicken around the ‘head-board’ (get it?), answering questions and riddles while simultaneously trying to avoid the Spaniard who is chasing the chickens around the board so he can put them in a pie. The figurines are extremely detailed, with majestic, regal chickens and a realistically evil Spaniard. This gave my friends and I hours of fun and a genuine distaste for continental Europeans. Of course, it doesn’t match up to the fun of having a real roast chicken on your head, but it’s close.

ChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhatChickenhat.

Imaginary Party Review

As the Imaginary Reviewer, I get invited to lots of soirees hosted by people who wish to curry my favour. Of course, my opinion on music, film or literature can’t be changed by sausages on sticks and after-dinner Armagnac, but this doesn’t stop people trying. My evenings are all full with black tie events and charity fundraisers, so much so that my tuxedo hasn’t had a night off in three months, and the Union of Formalwear Garments are threatening me with legal action.

And yet, my favour remains uncurried. The hosts of these parties have not managed to influence my reviews in any way; the only effect they’ve had on The Imaginary Review is fodder for my reviewing eye. So here are some reviews of some of the recent shindigs I’ve attended.

The evening at the Witheringham-Smythe’s home in Marylebone Square was a resounding success on all levels. Firstly, the other guests were all wonderfully interesting people. Mister Chatterstoft, a widower from Stoke-on-Trent, regaled us all with a rousing tale of his exploits in Bangkok. How we laughed at his witty anecdotes about cases of mistaken identity, slapstick police chases and missing prophylactics! And the food, laid on by the Witheringham-Smythes’ catering staff was to die for. The roast suckling duckling bathed in a reduction of its own tears was particularly delicious. Reverend Simms’s erotic shadow puppetry rounded off a delightful evening.

Lord Arse-Tebbit and his intriguing man-friends hosted a charity fundraising auction at the Blatherwick Manure Museum Hall on Tuesday. To raise money for the building of a new gallows in Blatherwick Town Centre, Lord Arse-Tebbit was auctioning off his daughters, all twenty-three of them. Bidding was quite frenzied at times, with some lots being decided through fist fights in the car park. A great time was had by all, especially Lord Arse-Tebbit’s daughters, who enjoyed the attention. I ended up winning Gladys, who now has pride of place on my mantelpiece until Saint Swithin’s Day, when I have to give her back.

I wasn’t particularly fond of the wine tasting hosted by Terence Flanagan at the Devonshire Hotel in Upper Wapping. A series of lapses in the evening’s organisation meant that no wine had been provided, and so our group of eager connoisseurs had to make do with a tap water tasting instead. This was far from ideal, especially after Mrs Killorphan caught diphtheria. We did, however, attempt to make the best of the situation, and I can reveal that – from our novice tastebuds, anyway – the upstairs gents’ toilets tap had the worst tasting water, while the best was in the third-floor staffroom.

Finally, Steve Capshaw had a wonderful soiree at his parents’ house while they were in Portugal for a week. A delightful time was had by most of his guests, especially Mark Jones who snogged Debbie Bradshaw in Steve’s parents’ bedroom, with many rumours circulating that she let him cop a feel as well. The food was excellent, and the good people at Kebabs! Kebabs! Kebabs! Takeaway down the road are to be commended. Sadly, the abundance of refreshing beverages seemed to take its toil on some people, with Johnny Murphy throwing up in the kitchen sink. Also, regrettably, somebody defecated in the hall, and Steve had to clean it up himself, as the culprit never admitted to it. All in all, this was a superb party, and I for one can’t wait until Steve’s Mum and Dad go to Prague for Christmas.