In the office

‘Let it be’ – The Beatles

‘Hallelujah, I’m a bum’   –

‘Why don’t you work like other folks do?
How the hell can I work when there’s no work to do?

Hallelujah, I’m a bum,
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a handout
To revive us again.’

Two cultural debates:

Is it sconz or scOnes?  Apparently the latter is posh – unless you live in Yorkshire – in which case it’s the other way round.

Is it posh to eat dark chocolate.  The general consensus  is yes – ‘posh’ people apparently don’t have the craving for sweet things that common people do.

The Christmas Do

There is such a huge variance between teams about how to celebrate the year by having the Christmas do.  One of the teams goes the whole hog and takes off to a hotel for the weekend – then spends the rest of the year apologising for drunken indiscretions.  Another opts for a burlesque evening followed by a slap up meal and expensive cocktails.  At the other end of the spectrum are teams that plump for the cheap and cheerful Christmas dinner special at the local carvery or Wetherspoons.

Being a small but perfectly formed team, we chose a Tapas bar in the centre of town where four of us had tapas and the other four went for more traditional food (not ‘fare’  – ‘traditional fare’ makes my teeth itch).  ‘Now that’s what I call Christmas’ was very much in evidence in the bar but somebody with taste skipped over ‘Mistletoe and Wine’.   The tapas was plentiful and acceptable although the calimari was on the rubbery side and we could have done with more aoli.

Much wine was consumed however, and with our numbers dwindled to five we trudged through the rain to meet up with the Wetherspoons crowd who were upstairs sitting on unfeasibly high stools and surrounded with Christmas detritus: pulled crackers and party poppers, discarded paper hats and half-eaten Christmas  pudding.  They were mellow.

More wine was consumed and people who barely acknowledged each other throughout the year parted with the fondest of hugs until there were only four of us left and the wine bottles were empty.  A hungry teenager on the phone, desperate for late night chips  and a sausage, broke up the party and we went on a hunt for a chippy that was still open at twenty to twelve.  Luck was with us and on being met by a wailing cat and a rumbling son as we walked in the door, peace was restored by chips for the boy and chicken for the cat.  And several glasses of water for me to try and dilute some of that wine.