Was it an omen that my work Christmas party was scheduled for Mad Friday? Was it a sign that my night was due to end in A&E? Thankfully not but, with the presence of a free bar suffice it to say that it is Sunday evening and I’m still feeling ropey.
So after getting all gussied up thus:
I hopped in my Yaris and drove like I’d stolen it to collect all the girls together, including picking up our new friend Africa who’d started to walk because we were cutting it so fine. I was a little worried we were about to get busted for kerb crawling as in her own words Africa said she was dressed like a hooker but we got her into the car unscathed and headed to base to get on the coaches to head to the Royal Marines Museum which was to be our home for the night.
Polite conversation on the coach ensued and quite a few colleagues expressed regret at not bringing a cheeky coach drink to get the party started especially when the driver got lost but soon enough we landed and joined the back of a massive queue to be officially welcomed by management. I got a kiss on the cheek and an ‘Alice *sympathetic look* good of you to come’ as if it was such a hardship to me to attend an event with a free bar?! Of course it could have been the standard pity response because I was on my own, but it made me bristle with fake outrage all the same and might have been a contributing factor in me choffing my way through a LOT of Bucks Fizz at the drinks reception. It was weird to see everyone dressed up because at work it’s casual clothes and overalls and then as one guy put it “I’m not saying you ladies don’t make an effort Monday to Friday but come the Christmas party it’s like WOAH legs and breasts”. Plus who doesn’t like a man in a dinner jacket, am I right?
After successfully dodging the caricaturist who was doing the rounds (because I couldn’t run the risk of him drawing me with a big balloon fatty fat face) we were called through to dinner where we sat on ceremony for approximately thirty seconds before the girl sat next to me broke the ice and demanded the wine be opened. A girl after my own heart. Whoever did the table plan clearly had a sense of humour because they put me on the same table as the man from work that I had a dalliance with and have been dancing around ever since who happened to have brought a really good looking friend with him. Say it with me people… AWKWARD!
Actually it was okay because if there’s one thing my colleagues are good at it’s banter and innuendo which we had in bucket loads. My colleague H and I had been winding up one of the blokes at work about a picture of him where he’s surfing and has got his ridonkulous body out (seriously, the kid practically has an eight pack) and although he claimed to be embarrassed beyond belief he was of course loving the attention. I don’t think he was loving it so much when he got to his seat to find that everyone on his table had a copy of said photo under their napkins… Score one to team oestrogen!
Each table had a manager on it which I think was an attempt to rein in the crazy but our designated manager has just left the company and was clearly in the mood to let her hair down so she was great value. We hadn’t even had the starters delivered when one of the girls took an order and went to the bar because clearly the six bottles of wine on the table weren’t enough and we needed something stronger. Two glasses of wine and a G&T to see me through the starter made it seem like a great idea when one of the cheekiest boys from work swept past and whispered ‘jaegerbombs jaegerbombs jaegerbombs’ in my ear before giving me a wink. As a boy who is always looking for somewhere to sleep the girls at work had spent the day placing bets on who he’d end up with so there were some amusingly raised eyebrows when I was caught tippytoeing out of the room behind him after the first course.
The highlight of the evening has to have been the cabaret which totally blew my expectations out of the water. Not only was there a table magician (aka the DEVIL) who blew my tiny (drunk) mind with a trick with his balls but then the lights were dimmed and the hairs on the back of my neck rose up as I saw and heard the HMS Nelson Corps of Drums entering the room. It was so atmospheric that it brought tears to my eyes and gave me goosebumps. Sadly I didn’t film it but to give you an idea of what went on:
The middle part of the evening is a bit of a blur although I do remember Africa telling the tax accountant she was sat next to that she was my girlfriend, me announcing that I’d stick my tongue in the cheek dimple of the handsome guy on our table and deciding it was a great idea to mix Southern Comfort with lemon juice and water before starting to disrobe Mr Dalliance by removing his bow tie and indulging in a spot of knee stroking. The night really got started when I sank a few more shots, kicked off my shoes and hit the dancefloor. I also started telling people I’d only just met that I loved them, entered a bingo wing competition which I won by a country mile and did that oversharing with people I don’t really know thing that I regret so much the next morning.
All too soon it was last orders at the bar and time to stagger out to the coaches talking shite and wobbling. I made it safely onto the coach and after embarrassing my colleague’s American wife by continually telling her how hot she was I made the executive decision to move away and leave them in peace. I stood up and was slowly making my way towards the girls when WHAM!
In front of a coach full of people I work with, I stacked it into the toilet stairwell and had to be rescued (twice). Oh the shame, the shame! Back at the base we corrupted a taxi driver to take us to the after party where I drank a lot of gin and got all moon faced at a man playing the guitar like the total sook that I am. Reaching saturation point after approximately sixteen litres of gin (I kid) and keen to avoid making an utter twat of myself by putting the moves on Mr Guitar I made my way home.
Remembered to take my hair extensions out, didn’t have a pint of water before bed and spent far too long sat on the edge of my bed trying to work out how on earth I’d managed to lose the left pad out of my bra when nobody had been near my jumper bumps all night. One of life’s great mysteries I suppose! All in all a brilliant night however don’t be surprised if you hear me uttering that great drinker’s lie for the next few months:
I’M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN!!