The vanilla ice cream tasted wonderful considering it had been turfed out of the freezer earlier in the evening to make way for a corpse. The body in question was that of stroppy teenager Philly Goodbottom, who met her maker – and possibly her hero Kurt Cobain – minutes after proposing, with signal bad grace, a birthday toast to her father, Lord Goodbottom.

“Is she dead?” inquired his lordship of his best friend Dean Benedict Holycow, who was struggling to revive her where she lay, within inches of my table at the Fleece in Witney. “Only slightly,” replied the divine.

Philly’s demise might be supposed to have cast a pall over dad’s birthday celebration. But not a bit. The affable aristocrat joked on – “Good bottoms have been in my family for generations” – as all the guests exercised their little grey cells trying to discover who had done in his daughter.

We were meanwhile exercising our hands and arms, too, in the manipulation of knives and forks over a delicious dinner and the raising and lowering of wine glasses to our lips.

What chef Michael Halbert laid on foodwise for our delectation can be seen in the menu on the right. You will note (oo-er!) that it came spattered in blood . . .

Murder Mystery at the Fleece last Thursday was an enterprising new departure for this top-ranking pub and restaurant whose excellence has been outlined more than once in this column. It was offered in collaboration with Little Chico Productions, an Oxford company newly set up to supply nights of comic sleuthing wherever required, including private parties.

Its founder is actress Hannah E. Bloch. She wrote the script for last Thursday’s show, which gave her team of professional actors plenty scope for ad-libbing in the interchanges with the audience. These, of course, are a big part of the fun, and it was great to see how readily punters embraced the idea.

A chat with Hannah brought my first connection with the team in action as she teetered around the Fleece’s front bar, wine bottle in hand, in the guise of Kylie Funbean. This American former beauty queen was introduced to Rosemarie and me by her husband, that Dean Holycow (Mark Morgan). Soon we met birthday boy Lord G. in the Stephen Fry-like shape of the excellent Paul Critoph and his scowling daughter (Helen Kelly). Following her character’s tragic demise, Ms Kelly reappeared as saucy French maid Nicole who proved a deal more chatty than the taciturn Consuela (Antony Edwards), a domestic cross between Harpo Marx and ITMA’s Mrs Mopp (“Can I do you now, sir?”).

It was great fun, as I hope I have conveyed, and the dinner delicious. Rosemarie had spiced butternut squash soup, hake fillet with smoked haddock croquette and the lemon posset and Valhrona chocolate brownie with aforementioned ice cream. I had the terrine (super apricot chutney), the steak (stonkingly good) and a trio of splendid cheeses, the goat especially so. At £35 a head, this was a fabulous evening.