Saturday, December 09, 2006

The Xmas Party

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.

5 comments:

Mikey said...

Sounds like a glorious evening. A couple of corrections though:

(1) London is not Shit. London is officially Fucking Boss. That's why half the population of Poland and fully three-fifths of the population of Nigeria want to live here.

(2) EVERYBODY has got some Coke®: It used to be the official glamour accessory of the JetSet™ but with ghastly democratic fallout of Acid House it is near-ubiquitous. Dustmen take it. My Mum can get you some. So can yours. (Probably) Have you asked her? There's some lovely Fair Trade Crack in Waitrose.

Other than those two points, well up to your usual splendid teenager-baiting standard.

la fille mariƩe said...

Fweng,you and I live in different universes.

My staff Christmas party was this week.

Everyone attended in couples, from young to middle-aged. We sat at tables borrowed from a local church. We created centre pieces for our tables as part of a competition, but then every table ending up winning the same prize. We sang dirty lyrics to classic Christmas songs(who knew the word penis could be used in Jingle Bells so many times?). We ate dried out, overcooked turkey and stuffing, and drank non-alcoholic punch. We sang karaoke, and one sad couple danced. I was home by 9:30 p.m.

No hookers. No wandering the streets in search of drugs. No packets of fags.

Personally, I think my party sucked more than yours.

Fussy Bitch said...

I wish Roy had been called Rod and you had been called Freddy.

And that's all I have to say on the matter.

Ordinary Girl said...

Damn, you're Xmas party sounds so much better than mine. Which, incidentally, was spent in my hometown cricket club, where they did actually play the Birdie Song. I kid you not!

fwengebola said...

Mikey, bless you. I take it you're not a native Londoner. Or are you? I really can't tell. Start another blog anyway.

Fweng, our universes aren't that different, accent notwithstanding. Although your Xmas party sounds like a faint hell.
Never mind the drugs, no booze? WTF, I think the initials are.

Eff-Bee, Psht.

Ordinary, are people still allowed to play that? Good god, I thought that was on the list of how to gain an ASBO.