Eighteen years later he was the Honorable Josh Frydenberg MP, a rising star of Australian politics.

Now he is the country's treasurer - middle-aged and balding, but still emanating the same Boy Wonder sparkle he had at uni, when he proposed the staging of the High Table Banquet.

The banquet, he assured us, would be the most successful event in the society's history, thus ensuring its financial security for the foreseeable future. He said it would lure people from myriad backgrounds and ethnicities, creating a mass expression of the "new" Australia, while also being "serious fun, bitches".

(His use of the word "bitches", long before US culture popularised it, was hilarious. He would emphasise the word, and raise his hand for a high five.)

Berger was confident the banquet would be remembered as part of the university's lore. Perhaps it would even become an annual cultural happening, whose importance spread beyond the university, he told me over a beer one night.

I and other LSS members had our doubts. But Berger said that throughout history visionary ideas had initially been scoffed at. (I thought he had dramatically overstated the banquet's importance. But he was young, ambitious and drunk on the possibilities of his creation.)

And so it passed that on the 24th of March, in the year of our Lord 1992, planning officially began on the medieval-themed High Table Banquet. Berger, it turned out, had a love for all things medieval.

He said: "It's quite common for people to have a deep passion for those times."

"Even 20-year-old men?"' I replied.

Berger, the LSS's president and treasurer, said unmatched authenticity would be key to the banquet's success. Authentic food, clothing, decor and music, etc. He would create an unforgettable experience for attendees.

I was soon cognisant of three things it had definitely created: a cost blowout, disquiet among LSS members and nonexistent buzz - if you don't count Berger.

Berger, however, remained annoyingly upbeat as members voiced their concerns and their frustration over his inability to face the reality of the situation: the High Table Banquet was tilting towards disaster. And worse: the LSS was facing financial ruin.

A campus hall, with seating for 300 people, was used for the event. It looked spectacular: long antique wood tables, on which sat antique carousel candelabras and pewter plates and cutlery, along with an array of cuisine such as meat and fish dishes.

There was a fire-eater, an acrobat, a harpist, a lutist and a fiddler. There was even a dwarf, who, dressed suitably, goofed around playing the court jester. In short, it looked pretty authentic - or as authentic as you could hope for given it was held in a modern hall.

Sitting on a throne at the high table, dressed like a medieval king, was Berger. He was hunched over, miserable. So too were the six other LSS members sitting with him at the grand oak table, drowning their sorrows.

The banquet was a disaster, attracting only two people: Asian lesbians dressed as friars. The society's vice-president, a human Ken doll, suddenly sprang up from his high-table seat and threw a pewter mug across the hall. He pointed at Berger. And spit flew from his mouth as he called him an imbecile who had impaled the society with his "utterly ridiculous idea".

"We're the laughing stocks of the university," he raged, knocking the crown off Berger's head. "Uni students were never gonna respond favourably to this dorky bloody idea. And why celebrate the 'new' Australia by holding a f------ medieval banquet? We've got no money left. The society's ruined. And you ruined it."

Right then about a dozen angry dwarfs stormed into the hall. A TV cameraman recorded them, accompanied by a young female reporter.

The dwarfs protested the "belittling" of one of their own. The court jester dwarf, who resembled the actor in Bad Santa, told them to mind their own business. "Why don't ya piss off," he said.

Berger approached the group. He told them that the use of the dwarf was a homage to the "greatest period in history". "So take it easy, bitches!" he said, raising his hand for a high five.

The kick to Berger's groin left him writhing in agony on the floor. It was a fitting conclusion to the lamentable High Table Banquet.

Mark Bode is an ACM journalist. The events depicted in his writings are not meant to be taken literally. He uses satire and fiction in commentary.