Instead of turning to a magazine to ask myself open-ended questions with the view to elicit long-winded, revealing answers about myself, I’m going down a different route this weekend.

This edition of Dannielle Interviews Herself But Isn’t Weird, OK? Is based on a handful of discarded beer bottle caps I found on the ground at the park near the basketball hoop.

These weren’t the “how many games did Alfie Langer…?” kind of questions I have come to expect from my stubby lids, but had conversation starters printed on the inside, there to save the day when the banter inevitably peters out and the silence allows the realisation that everyone has grown apart to sink in. Rather than finally agreeing that, maybe you don’t have to keep beating the dead horse that is your friendship, you keep it together for at least one more barbecue with the help of discussion prompts and an copious amounts of alcohol.

Here are the questions:

 Your most memorable sporting moment? Discuss: Because I was shootin’ hoops at the time, a memory from my basketball days came to me. To begin with, I need to emphasise that I was a beefy kid. I was solid. Big boned. Stocky. I was – and still am – rather shithouse at team sport. I enjoyed winning, but I never really had the coordination or the speed to do so. But there were plenty of people who did. One guy in particular was a bloody wizard with that extremely-worn ball. He was just always shootin’ those hoops. I wanted to stop him streamrolling over our team, but I didn’t have the ability to match his. However, I did have bulk. So this one time he was streaming up the court I, in some kind of local-sport-related fit of rage, just stopped right in front of him, knowing he would crash into me and be knocked for six. I mean, he got back up and continued to cream us, but I remember feeling an exhilarating sense of victory. Looking back, that’s actually quite concerning that my overwhelming sense of victory came from literally knocking someone down.

Would you rather eat schnitzel or steak for the rest of your life? Discuss: Well, this is a tough one because I love a good schnitty but I also love a good steak. I suppose this is the premise of the question; both are great, but which one do you want forever? I finally understand how the men of The Bachelor feel. I mean, schnitty is obviously the sexy one, who has all that chemistry and crunch. Steak sparks a slow-burning desire, but a schnitty is explosive and exciting. But steak doesn’t come with the deep-fried glut that makes you feel a little yuck, it fills you with iron and protein and leaves you feeling loved and satisfied. And schnitties can be very hit and miss – a good schnitty is a great, but an average one makes you wonder why you chose it above all overs. In the end, I’m someone who is prone to a bit of iron deficiency, so steak always makes my feel good. It complements me, offering what I lack. So, schnitty, as much as I love your sizzle and crunch, my heart lies with someone else. And that someone is a thick, juicy slab of steak.

Should you prick your sausages while cooking them on the barbecue? Discuss:  First off, given this is a beer sold in Australia, I’m surprised they didn’t really play up that yeah-mate-so-strayan’ thing most ales do. And, while I’m here, can I just say that the world “whilst” drives me crazy? It’s entirely unnecessary when the more colloquial “while” is acceptable, making the word redundant for anyone who doesn’t feel the need to look like they’re super smart and impressive by sprinkling a couple of “whilst”s into their rants. It’s the same for people who say  “whom” instead of “who”. People know what you mean mate, you don’t need to get all old English on us. And, look, I don’t want to be spiteful, but the kind of people who use those terms are the kind of people who write complaint letters or take to their local community Facebook group to whinge about their poor service at KFC. Anyway, no, don’t prick the sangs ya dingbat, all the juices escape if you do that.

Shoestring fries, crinkle-cut chips or thick-cut chips? Discuss: Ok, so my favourite chips are the ones that come from Super Rooster but let’s leave that to one side to address the question. In terms of ranking, crinkle-cut is at the bottom. They are never cooked well and often go soggy – they’re all show and no pony. Next I’ll have to go shoestring, because they’re generally quite tricky to mess up. They don’t take long to cook so they’re generally always fried to perfection, however, they don’t have a long plate life. Let them sit there for longer than 20 minutes and they’ve gone all cold and depressing. Thick-cut chips then take out the crown, but only conditionally. If they’re cooked well – fluffy on the inside and crunchy on the outer regions – they’re heaven. You’ve got the crunch and girth everyone dreams of. But an undercooked batch of thick-cutters is deeply disappointing and, in that case, I’d go for shoestring.

What sporting event would you like to go back and witness? Discuss: That’s gotta be that State of Origin match where Gordon Tallis dragged old mate from NSW over the touchline in a terrifying fit of rage. Of course, I would want to be the age I am now so I could enjoy it with a couple of jugs of beer rather than the age I was when I actually witnessed it on TV, when it was a formative experience that imprinted on my psyche and informed my approval-seeking tomboy character.