I wouldn't sail this ship if I were you
Before the entrance of the diners, the hall is prepared. The shutters are gilded and bolted shut. Great basins of clover are placed in front of them. A chandelier of beaten gold is raised, and a choir sits in the upper balcony and chants plainsong. A fire is lit in the hearth, over which some unidentifiable large meat object is placed for roasting.
1. Entrance of the diners. Each is served a thimble of champagne and three compliments, which are delivered by lissom young gentlemen in satin jackets. Each diner takes their place at the table and is draped in a large velvet cloak. The cloaks are curiously uncomfortable; they are much too hot for the hall, which is already a little stifling, and they are covered on the inside with large, stiff patches displaying the logos of the banquet sponsors.
2. A great black dish is brought to the table. It is made of cast iron and requires ten servants to carry. These servants are dressed as chimney sweeps and after their brief service they will be thrown out on the street with pay of one Cornish pasty each. The central lights are dimmed, and candles are lit amongst the clover basins. The lid is removed, to great fanfare. Hundreds of bees fly out. The host explains that this course contains no food, but that a delivery of bees is required to pollinate the clover. Water is served.
3. There is a parade of gentlemen in sharp suits through the room. Goodness, but they are well-dressed. A jester, dancing before them, showers the air with cocaine. The gentlemen pass through the room into some other room beyond high table, and we do not see them again. Slices of bread are served, but run out before the bottom of the table is reached. The diners are encouraged to fight for the bread; after ten minutes, those without bread are deemed to obviously not want food, and are thrown out.
4. The choir sings works by John Tavener and Arvo Part. Three banquet supervisors make the rounds of the table, asking for contributions for the choir, who are volunteers. Great flat black pebbles are served, with a single walnut half on top and a drop of salad cream. The supervisors explain that, for a fee, diners may get the pebbles monogrammed in gold and take them home.
5. The fourth course: representatives of major fast-food chains wheel golden trollies around the hall, offering a selection of iconic meals for fifteen pounds each. The choir sing a medley of jingles designed to increase hunger and promote careless purchases. Meanwhile, a group of cheeky young bucks of long and certified pedigree creep beneath the table and anaesthetise the feet of the diners, before stealing their shoes.
6. Diners are given a form to fill in to determine if they are worthy of dessert, citing income, work ethic, and a time they solved a personal challenge in an enterprising way. The five souls deemed worthy get to sit at a small table in the centre of the room and eat flaccid chocolate mousse, with everyone else gathered around to observe their shining example.
7. End of the banquet. A selection of bright, humming and flashing fluorescent tubes are switched on. Two Tudor-esque servants wander in, scratching their arses. They douse the fire, retrieve the roasting meat and take it through to the back room. The cloaks are removed and the guests presented with dry-cleaning bills. On the way out, they are offered employment as servers in the back room for the rest of the evening, but are unable to accept; indeed, most are having trouble even walking (given the foot anaesthetic, their lack of shoes, and the fact that the floor is strewn with dead and dying bees). This is entirely OK, provided that they pay a surcharge.
The next day, the newspapers report positively on the entrepreneurial spirit of the young bucks, recounting as a footnote that some wasters of no consequence were caught stumbling down the road.