R.S.V.P.

There are two types of people in this world. Those who love fancy dress parties and those who hate fancy dress parties. I am firmly in the second camp.

This thought struck me on Saturday night, as I was walking home past various groups of revellers wearing ridiculous outfits. I realised that when I get invited to a fancy dress party my one aim is to spend as little time as possible thinking about what to wear, but still manage to look like I've made an effort. Making an effort for a party is the equivalent of "it's the thought that counts" for a present. Nobody really believes it but we have to pretend that we do, otherwise society will break down into anarchy.

My top three fancy dress party triumphs, in reverse order:

3. Anything with the word "green" in it. It's my surname, so it'll do for a costume. I've used this pathetic excuse at "Tube" parties ("Yes, I'm Green Park! Or Parsons Green, or Turnham Green...") I've even dressed as "Reverend Green" in the past. A dog collar is easy to make with a single piece of plain A4 paper. And I have two green shirts.

2. At Edinburgh one year there was a "come as your favourite popstar" party. That's a major problem for the "making an effort" brigade. Why "your favourite"? I like Kanye West, but I'm never going to look like him, at least not without causing some serious offence. Ditto Beth Ditto. In the end I chose Bowie. Not in the Ziggy Stardust years, or even Aladdin Sane. No, I went for a mix of Heroes and Hunky Dory. Or to put it another way, I wore a jazzy shirt and put on eye liner. That's the good thing about Bowie. He probably looked like that at least once.

1. At college I was invited to a "come as your hero" party. That's even more difficult than favourite popstar. I didn't really have any heroes, unless you count sportsmen (too much effort) or comedians and writers (not enough effort). I'd left this one very late, and was sitting in my friend's room that evening bemoaning my lack of costume. Then I noticed that he had an empty flowerpot in the corner of his room. I don't remember why - I think it was a prop from a play he'd been in or something - but it gave me an idea.

So a couple of hours later I arrived at the party wearing a green shirt and a flowerpot on my head. The host opened the door to this absurd vision and looked bemused.

"Hi Matt!" she said. "Er...what have you come as?"
"Bill or Ben!" I replied.
"Who?"
"The flowerpot men!"
"They're your heroes?" she said, visibly worried.
"Yes! Now, where's the booze?"

I think that was the nadir of "making an effort". In order to avoid having to make or pay for a costume I pretended that characters from a children's programme I didn't even watch were my heroes. It was a rubbish party too. Nobody seemed to want to talk to me. Possibly because I was wearing a flowerpot.

And pretty soon I discovered that the flowerpot had been decorated in silver paint that was coming off on my head and face. Within an hour I could take off the pot and claim I'd come as the Terminator. But the Terminator with robot alopecia. In a green shirt.