Poor Salman Butt. That’s all we can think about.
He’s trying to organise a nice tea party, even though the crockery’s jagged and serrated and keeps cutting people’s hands. The teapot’s got a hole in it and it’s dribbling boiling water over everyone.
Yet Butt’s holding it all together. He’s making do, even though every time he offers someone sugar, it’s fraught with danger. There’s blood everywhere, but no-one’s died. It’s fragile, but they’re getting by.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone drops a live grenade onto the table and tells him to use it as a saucer.