Dear Agony Uncle,

My wife and I love to throw lavish parties, however, when the partying is done, the buzz gone, and Pillow Point begins its siren song, the dilemma arises: How does one empty one’s home of the leftover human flotsam? Delicate, particularly if there are a few choice guests with whom the party may continue …

Party Pooper, Brighton VIC

Dear Party Pooper,

House parties are always such a good idea in theory but when it comes to the execution and then the aftermath, the whole experience can be like an appendectomy: a painful reminder of a futile operation. Hosting an affair at home has its benefits: alcohol at liquor shop and not bar prices; no watchful scrutiny of behaviour more licentious; and somewhere comfortable to collapse should it all become too overwhelming. Unfortunately, shipping out the unwanted dregs—the boozed, the barbiturated, the bothersome—can be even more challenging to render than soaking the stains from the carpet underfoot.

Nightclubs have a quick and effective strategy: turn the lights on; turn the music off; and turn everyone out; however, this lacks the finesse and subtlety required of a soirée chez vous. Sure a big burly security guard with outstretched arms makes for an ominous visual deterrent from later-night revellers, but who has room for the extra forty cubic metres he occupies in a two-bedroom apartment?

Taking a direct yet tactful approach is one way to ensure your friends remain invited guests and not unwelcome pests. A “Thanks for coming everyone, it’s time we went to bed” seems obvious, but is often the only way to get through to those who are not quite so cognisant. Enlisting their services in the clean-up is an even better way to ensure that everyone is out the door, many of whom will make their (im)polite excuses to hightail it before picking up a cigarette butt-filled beer bottle.

As for your segregation of those who kick on, perhaps instigate a code. If Celine Dion comes on the stereo, then it’s time for them to mill around and make as though they are leaving. As for the rest, the first strains of “My Heart Will Go On” should be sufficient impetus to order a cab and a new set of eardrums. This, of course, will only work if you’re not hosting a repressed minorities party where actual Celine Dion fans might attend, in which case, it’s time to find new friends.

I do believe there’s more for you to read: