Wright On! Shelley Wright takes a wry look at life

IN the last seven days a domestic cult has tightened its grip on my circle of friends and I don't know where it will end.

Well, actually I do - when we all have cupboards bursting with brightly coloured tubs and pots, our teabags in a super oval space saver size four with Hunter Green seal and a set of Mickey Mouse Ice Tups cooking up Vimto lollies in the freezer no doubt.

You see, we've been well and truly Tupperwared - and it's not good even if it does come with a lifetime guarantee.

It all started when my best friend was invited to a party about two years ago and was instantly hooked by an undoubtedly impressive medium sized Crisp It which promised to keep her lettuce fresh for weeks.

From there she booked a date and roped the rest of us in with the promise of some top scran and plenty of booze, following which another friend booked a date and did the same and so on, until the Helmshore Tupperware Appreciation Society landed on my doorstep last Friday night. I really had no choice in the matter - I was the only one left.

Now as in all good cults and cliques, those on the inside - namely my friends and I - believe wholeheartedly in the cause, while everyone else just thinks we're weird. And I know they do because I had to get nine people to my house by 8pm to qualify for a £20 sales bonus and at times it was admittedly like pulling teeth. In fact, it could be a new game on the Krypton Factor - or at the very least The Crystal Maze.

But why is everyone so suspicious? I mean, the looks I got when I asked some of my non-Tupperwaring mates to come along, well, you'd have thought I'd invited them to commit mass suicide or something. In fact, I don't think they actually believed it until they walked through the door.

And that's not to mention the looks I got from some blokes who seem to think a Tupperware party is secret code for a seedy Ann Summers do or some kind of kinky orgy at the very least.

I think most of my guests were dragged kicking and screaming to my door by their other halves who handed them a crisp £20 to spend on something unmentionable and then headed for the nearest pub rubbing their hands with glee.

Well, I'm sorry lads, but you're going to be disappointed when the only marital aid to come from my party is a natty little navy blue number designed to keep your sandwiches fresh - and while it might be plastic we're not talking PVC. But I think Friday night was an undisputed success unless you count the fact that two of the new people indoctrinated by the Tupperware gospel booked parties and I'll be going to those soon.

And, let me tell you, if I get any more Fridge Mates I'll have to start selling them off myself.

And I just hope Tupperware's latest followers realise that being a hostess isn't all it's cracked up to be. I mean, there I was, thinking I'd make a mint - or at least enough for the picnic set on special - but after the amount of wine that lot supped I think I'm about £25 down.

All right, I've pocketed a tasty trio of Tip Top canisters in jade green and a limited edition cafetiere but after slaving away with the Marks and Spencers party food for an hour I should think so too.

And I wouldn't mind but no-one touched a thing after a friend revealed the subject of last week's Wright On! in the middle of supper. Picking your nose? I don't think Tupperware do them do they?

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.