Last night was the work Christmas party. I only went because the Gallows gig in Watford was cancelled, something about the front man being ill. If I can’t get my teeth knocked out in a mosh pit, I may as well go and risk losing all dignity in front of my managers.

Before I left I was weighing up the odds, my homie was getting a take-away delivered, and it was minus three outside with the prediction being heavy snow. I finally decided I should make the effort to see if I could learn something about the people who I spend every day talking to.

This gathering of freaks took place in our local pub down the road, and by the time I arrived it was absolutely rammed. I said a few hellos, and then shoulder barged my way to the bar and ordered a Broadside, as it turned out, the first of many.

The rest of the night was spent explaining my presence to everyone who I had told that I wouldn’t be able to make it to, poncing fags off people, and the inevitable slagging off of authority figures who were stood just metres away, but were too drunk to hear.

I did what I set out to do, I had a lot to drink, I got really cold, I vented my spleen, and I learned a lot about my colleagues. For example, the quiet young looking girl, who is more insane than eccentric, turned out to be in her mid forties and incredibly intelligent and nice to talk to.

I left before the snow started to get too heavy and stumbled home. I then left a rambling voice mail on an ex-girlfriends phone (sorry Becks!). When I awoke this morning I had my headphones on and my ipod on my lap, my lamp was still on, and there was an unopened can of beer on the table along with an empty Dime bar wrapper. Success!
HJ