Lakhvir Kaur Singh, a 40-year-old woman from West London, got life in prison last week when she was found guilty of killing her ex-lover, the ironically named ‘Lucky’ Lakhvinder Cheema, by lacing his curry with Indian Aconite.
Apparently, she went on some sort of fact-finding mission back in the ol’ country, brought some aconite back with her and sprinkled it in his curry two weeks before ‘Lucky’ was to marry new lover, Gurjeet Choough, who spent two days in a coma but survived.
Aconite, the ‘queen of poisons’, is found in the Himalayan foothills and, according to mythology, is what “turned Shiva’s neck blue”.
Singh tried to blame her brother-in-law Varinder, but when coppers raided her home they found the poison in her bag and in her coat.
You don’t want to sit next to her at a dinner party.

The Man in Black and Vizzini have two goblets in front of them. The Man In Black wants Vizzini, a self-styled Sicilian intellectual, to engage in a battle of wits to decide which has the deadly iocane powder in.
Vizzini switches the goblets then drinks from his own glass. “You guessed wrong,” the Man in Black says.
“You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - The most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in Asia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line"! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha... Then he dies.
The MiB has built up an immunity to iocane powder so will happily posion his own dinner as well as yours.
You don’t want to sit either side of him at a dinner party.

Any kids likely to be up and about during your dinner party? Flat resemble a sparse Germanic bunker in Berlin? You might wanna think twice about having the Goebbels round then.
Come the denouement of World War II, with the Soviets advancing to Berlin amid stroies of brutality and rape, there was much discussion in the Führerbunker about suicide as a means to escape humiliation or punishment from the Soviets.
Goebbels's last testament, appended to Hitler's, assured its readers that his wife and children supported him in his refusal to leave Berlin, and that the children would support the decision if they were old enough to speak for themselves.
On 1 May 1945, the Goebbels' six children were injected with morphine and, when they were unconscious, killed by having a crushed ampoule of cyanide placed in their mouths.
If they could do this to their own spawn, imagine what they could do to yours…

Wouldn’t it be shit if you went round yer nan’s house thinking it was going to be ace, then got farmed up into the attic by your money-hungry old dear, and gently poisoned with arsenic over the course of a 3-year period during which you get all pale of the face and your younger brother falls ill, goes downstairs, and is never seen again.
Seriously, we’ve meet some money-grabbing women in our time, the last of which even managed to get a drink out of us, but this mum type takes the biscuit. Literally, in this case. Sprinkles arsenic over it mixed with icing sugar and then feeds it to her kids while she hob-nobs with aristocratic twerps downstairs and kisses her dying da’s arse to protect her inheritance.
Snidey bitch.

Ever played music a little too loud at night and begun your DIY a little too early on a Saturday morning? Then probably best you don’t invite your neighbour round for dinner. Especially if they can do a Sudoku puzzle in less than four minutes.
The ultimate meddling neighbour, Florida genius George Trepal, was convicted of the murder of Peggy Carr, who lived next-door to him, in 1988.
A well-known intellectual who got the nickname "the Mensa murderer" for his membership in the high-IQ society, Trepal had placed some Coke bottles laced with the poison thallium nitrite in the Carr residence to get them to move out; the entire family became ill, but unlucky Peggy died.
George is currently on Death Row. There is no noise there.

The older brother of convicted rapist and murderer Joseph Kuklinski, Richard Kuklinski was a sociopathic Mafia hitman who had been killing since the age of 14, and earned his nickname after he figured out that freezing a body would make it more difficult to fix the time of death. He used various methods of termination including guns, strangulation and stabbings, but apparently preferred poison, favouring the use of cyanide since it killed quickly and was hard to detect in a toxicology test.
Bloated actor, Mickey Rourke, is a fan of the story. He’s said he’ll star and co-produce a feature film based on Philip Carlo's book on the Iceman.

A word of warning: if someone has a name like the following, it’s best not to invite her along to an evening soiree.
Nannie Doss, known as "Arsenic Annie", died in 1965, having put paid to 11 family members by lacing arsenic in prunes, including four husbands, the last one, Samuel Doss, for whose murder she was eventually tried and convicted. She’s also thought to be guilty of having poisoned her mother, two of her four daughters, a mother-in-law, and various cousins etc.

In the remote case that your dinner invite is extended to shadowy government organisations, best not invite the KGB. Or the Bulgarian secret police. Especially if it’s raining.
Georgie Markov, who originally worked as a novelist and playwright, openly criticised the Bulgarian Stalinist regime on the radio and was killed on a London street after Bulgarian secret police fired a ricin-containing pellet into his leg using an umbrella. A spherical metal pinhead was discovered embedded in Markov’s calf. There being no known antidote to ricin, Markov died.
Alexander Litvinenko, an officer of the Russian State security service (FSB), and later a Russian dissident and writer, publicly accused his superiors of ordering the assassination of Russian tycoon and oligarch, Boris Berezovsky. A few years after being granted political asylum in the UK, on 1 November 2006, Litvinenko fell ill and died three weeks later from lethal poisoning by radioactive polonium-210.
An excruciating demise.

A poisonous human being, one can only imagine the discourse of Chelsea’s captain at dinner parties and such like. Unhappy with the level of conversation (it’s not about him) and the fact the meal isn’t taking place in a strip joint, Mr Terry will no doubt turn his attentions to the host’s spouse, gently cajoling her with ideas of romance diguised in bejewelled foreign trips to Dubai, the Caribbean and the director’s box at Stamford Bridge.
Before you’ve served the pudding, he has already boned the majority of your guests and made them sign contracts guaranteeing their silence. If you do invite him, sit the missus next to Arsenic Annie, then you’ll never have to hear the details.