We’re halfway through term, and by this point many of you will have made grave mistakes at the dinner table when it mattered most. For second years, Halfway Hall can be intimidating enough: the prospect of acting like an oik in front of your DoS will fill you with dread long after you graduate, and while some of you may have high-powered interviews in which to crash and burn, you still find nothing scarier than the prospect of your parents coming for dinner. This will not be because of your flagging academic standards, the crimson nightmare of your bank statement or your lacklustre articles for the student press. The thing I fear most is my father driving home and thinking,

“Considering how much all this is costing, I would’ve thought he’d be a bit... posher... by now.”

For most of us Cambridge isn’t all roast swan, gentleman’s clubs and self-congratulatory hedonism. But the myth lives, and the myth sells, and therein lies the problem. Dishonest though it may be, you sometimes need to pretend (even if it is to secure a “loan” to tide you over until the end of term) – but fear not, for I have a foolproof guide, based on my own experiences, for looking sophisticated and elegant at dinner without having to abandon your regular diet of Doner Gyros and whichever VK is cheapest.

Cutlery: The rules with cutlery are confusing, seeing as different occasions and cultures all have their own hang-ups. Avoid any faux-pas by refusing to move until your host does. Halfway through the meal he’ll realise you’re tackling a steak with a soup spoon, but daren’t speak ill of it as he is doing the same. Some of you will have used a fish knife to slice (slice!) and butter your bread roll. There is little that can be done- you are beyond saving. Try and wear your ill manners as a badge of pride.

Champagne: In the average week I easily consume more ink from absent-mindedly chewing biros than I do sparkling wine. However, no matter what you have been offered, take a tentative sniff and sip gingerly, as if your glass was full of poisonous acid. Ask what it is and, whatever the answer, respond with a disappointed “oh...”

Beer: Sometimes you will be trying to impress academics, parents and/or new friends over a pint or two of foaming brown nectar. The rules here are simple- first, pick the beverage with the worst sounding name. Craft brewers are the kind of people to whom ‘Old Ginger Tosser’ is the perfect moniker for a beer and usually reserve these names for their favourite tipple. Second you must comment on the “mouthfeel” (and no, ‘wet’ isn’t a suitable response). Finally, never buy crisps. You’ll only have to share them.

Starters: Refer to them as entrées, even if they aren’t. French words make everything sound classier.

Mains: If you’re out to impress, order a steak. Steaks mean power - they are manifestations of ambition that intimidate, then arose, then intimidate anyone who orders a salad. If your dinner partner orders a steak, demand a bigger one. This is doubly the case if you are a girl. Order it rare and, unless it comes out mooing led by the sommelier with an axe, complain that it was too done.

The Bill: Never forget why you are here. The prospect of a free feed was enough to override an imminent essay clusterfuck - there is no way you’re paying the bill!