I HAD a few people around for dinner on Saturday night. I didn’t do anything fancy – steak, salad and sweet potato fries followed by home-made tiramisu and cheese and biscuits.

He had gone to Tesco and bought enough booze to intoxicate an entire campus of student pre-drinkers, and I very naively thought that any leftover alcohol could be put away for Christmas.

We talked and laughed and drank (yes, even me and I hardly drink these days) until 3am.

The men retired to the lounge to talk about monetary matters, leaving the girls at the dinner table to talk about the important stuff – Magic Mike 2 and dieting.

But when I got up in the morning, I couldn’t believe the devastation. Chocolate wrappers were strewn around the floor – we didn’t even have chocolate in the house as I remember.

The last conversation I recalled was the effectiveness of the Atkins diet which clearly sent us into a feeding frenzy.

The cheese board looked like it had been attacked by monster mice.

A family-size bag of Doritos had disappeared along with a 15-year-old bottle of Chardonnay, and none of us even like Chardonnay.

The dog was rolling around looking like she’d swallowed a baby pig, so heaven only knows what she’d scavenged.

And I’m too ashamed to tell you how many empty bottles of wine lay scattered around the dining room, but I had to slip a few into next door’s bottle bin.

What I would have done for one of those TV obsessive cleaners to turn up, bleach in hand, to sort out the mess.

Well, as it happens, a couple from Down Under in Perth have launched a company – Hangover Helpers – to provide that very service.

Not only will they clean your house – although they don’t do vomit or “anything that’s been consumed” – but they’ll also serve you breakfast in bed – “Green or greasy Madam?” and provide you with a menu of hydrating drinks to get you feeling human again.

There’s certainly a market in the UK for those who can afford it.

But for those who can’t – me included – you could try my student daughter’s method of protecting rented accommodation from party destruction.

She covers the entire wall and ceiling space with black bin liners. Ceiling?

She said: “Yes, at one party people were shooting tomato ketchup at the light fitting.”

The carpets are covered with flattened cardboard boxes stuck together with duct tape. I’m not saying my guests can’t be trusted, but I’m stocking up on bin bags for the next dinner party I will host.