It's 8am and I've yet to go to bed. Plus I work with 0 women, so there's nothing to report here.
Additionally, I'm very drunk and typing phenomenally carefully, plus I'm smoking again, and I'm not sure how that happened.
After work, we went for a meal, and I drank a shedload. On leaving our final bar, we were down to me, another dedicated colleague, and his girlfriend. We decided to head out to find a club to go dancing in and find some drugs. Except London is shit and we were without contacts.
The others left almost immediately, leaving me to find something interesting on my own. I traversed Soho, but was disgusted to find everywhere closed, barring coffee bars. Even the gay clubs were empty. I eventually found a semi-legal bar round the back of Tottenham Court Road. It was 3am.
I was surprised at how clued up I was, for once. Maybe it was the bouncer I spoke to earlier, pronouncing this place to be on the mere fringes of legality, but when I entered Bar Shithole, I knew something was different. Perhaps it was the £3.50/ $7 bottled beer. Maybe it was the dodgy Latino playlist I'd last heard in an aggresive club in Spain. Perchance it was the wall-to-wall hookers, but I wasn't entirely convinced by this venue. I found a corner to stand in. A girl was thrusting her chest into a dreadlocked man next to me. When I got my second beer here, she was suddenly next to me, introducing herself as 'Barbara' and somehow finding herself with an opened beer for me to buy her (I didn't).
When I walked back to the outskirts of the dancefloor, I found myself being stared at by a stunning girl wiggling seductively in the middle of three average guys. This went on for about half an hour. I wanted to tell the other blokes we were in a glorified brothel, but I didn't bother.
Despite feeling incredibly Righteous, I played Who's On The Game and Who Isn't. I smoked a packet of fags I suddenly found on me. I allowed the collective sweat from the ceiling above drip onto my hair.
Life had suddenly become very obvious. As soon as the lights went up at 5am, the flirtatious girl with the astonishing body vanished from the gang of men in front of me. They looked confused, and I caught the nightbus home.
I don't know what any of this means and I am about to throw this packet of cigarettes out of my bedroom window. It is my Christmas present to Chiswick High Street.
Xmas work parties are rubbish.