Game for a quaff

EVERY year, we and a dozen or so neighbours get together for a shirt-popping game dinner. Each couple sources and cooks some fine game before bringing it round to whoever draws the short straw to host the bash. The wine is free-flowing, the nights are late and the washing-up horrendous. Nobody has ever volunteered to host a second time. But, heck, we have an absolute hoot and all is forgiven and forgotten before long. Well, except for the rotter