Christmas parties

December 13, 2008

Today I’m gently hungover. I never drink a lot, but my hangovers do seem to have changed character as I get older: I rarely have raging headaches these days, I just feel slow and confused and sleepy for about 2 days. It’s not an unpleasant state as long as I don’t have to do anything. I pondered going to the gym this morning, but went to a posh caff instead.

Thursday night was my work Christmas party. The theme was “rock star” and lots of people made a proper effort to don fancy dress. Special marks go to the man who came as Amy Winehouse, complete with tattoos, bruises and a tiny pair of shorts that left nothing to the imagination. I didn’t bother with fancy dress, although I did wear my stripy beanie and claim that I was Badly Drawn Boy. It was a fairly nice evening – I’m a freelancer, so I don’t really have the same relationships that exist between the full-timers. I tend to have one or two people who I get on with very well, and then I have lots of people whom I engage in awkward, bland smalltalk. I was quite drunk, but managed not to say anything that would get me sacked. I felt quite old and fat, so I think more time at the gym may be needed. My rotundity seems to have crept up on me over the last seven or eight years.

Last night was my friend Graham’s Christmas do. Graham is part of the film pub quiz team that I have inadvertently joined. He – and everyone else on the team – is very nice indeed, with an encyclopedic knowledge of cinema that makes me feel a bit stupid. Having said that, at the last quiz I was on fire, getting loads of obscure answers with inspired semi-guesses. Anyway, the party was fun, and it was good to walk around a flat that is larger than one bedroom. There were lots of people there who clearly worked in The City and were coming straight from their work Christmas parties, which was a weird experience. Lots of gently striped shirts and drunken shouting. I didn’t really talk to anyone I didn’t know, although I was quite tempted to cry out: “Don’t you KNOW who I am? I published a book! I’m fucking famous!” but of course I didn’t. I never do. There was lots of mulled wine, which is always a bonus.

There was a brief discussion about the relative merits of Paul Simon. My girlfriend takes the piss out of me for occasionally listening to him, describing it as “Moomoo Music”. So we consulted my mate Tar:

“What do you think of Paul Simon?” I asked, hopefully.

“He’s fucking evil.” was the reply.

Oh well. I stand by my taste in music, although I’ll admit that You Can Call Me Al is bloody awful.

Now I’m monging around at home, waiting for the Spurs/Man U game to come on the telly (or computer).


One comment

  1. I don’t get how Paul Simon’s evil. It’s not like he’s eaten a baby or anything… That we know of…

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