’Tis The Season To Be Trollied
’Tis The Season To Be Trollied
It’s December and there’s bound to be a bit of a do. The five festive parties you can’t escape
The Neighbour’s Drinks
This one is manageable, if it is just you and them and the people on the other
side of you and them. Then you can all have a moan about the bin rules, the
bloke at No 4’s car alarm and No 12’s weird paint job (are those colours
even legal?). But sometimes they ask other people, and then you’re all in
different dress codes, and the only common ground is ways with leftover
turkey. You always have a top-scoring hangover after the NDP because, for
some reason, you feel you can’t refuse any of their special party food or
top-ups of their Yuletide cocktail. It ruins you for all the other Christmas parties.
The Office party
The office party is the one that everyone dreads a bit, because they Have So Much On and it’s taking place in some weird subterranean bunker where it apparently takes 10 minutes to get outside for a smoke. Then, on the night, it is a total blast. The quiet bloke in IT turns out to be quite fit, the DJ is amazing (at least for an office party) and various people in HR, who everyone thought were pretty grim, come out of their shells spectacularly to be dynamite on the dancefloor and not bad fire-eaters.
The office party is the one that everyone dreads a bit, because they Have So Much On and it’s taking place in some weird subterranean bunker where it apparently takes 10 minutes to get outside for a smoke. Then, on the night, it is a total blast. The quiet bloke in IT turns out to be quite fit, the DJ is amazing (at least for an office party) and various people in HR, who everyone thought were pretty grim, come out of their shells spectacularly to be dynamite on the dancefloor and not bad fire-eaters.
The Accidental Kitchen Party
This is the one when you and a couple of girlfriends were going to meet up for a really quick drink, possibly non-alcoholic, before going your separate ways to do essential, long-overdue stuff. It is dangerously close to Christmas Day. You have a presentation in the morning and the beginnings of a cold, and tomorrow the others have their in-laws coming to stay/lunch with the senior partner. This is the one night of the year when you all absolutely have to be in bed early and sober. Still, it comes as no surprise to any of you that at 2.30am you are trying on each other’s shoes, doing shots and smoking cigarette stubs reclaimed from the bin.
This is the one when you and a couple of girlfriends were going to meet up for a really quick drink, possibly non-alcoholic, before going your separate ways to do essential, long-overdue stuff. It is dangerously close to Christmas Day. You have a presentation in the morning and the beginnings of a cold, and tomorrow the others have their in-laws coming to stay/lunch with the senior partner. This is the one night of the year when you all absolutely have to be in bed early and sober. Still, it comes as no surprise to any of you that at 2.30am you are trying on each other’s shoes, doing shots and smoking cigarette stubs reclaimed from the bin.
This one, for which a proper invitation came in the post (imagine!), has been in the diary for at least six weeks. At this party there promises to be one or more slightly famous people, not including the ones high up in Channel 4 and Sony, a tree outdoors as well as indoors, champagne and a choice of cocktails, nests of quail’s eggs and miniature fish and chips, attractive connected people, rich people, good-looking people and their good-looking children, guaranteed Cara Delevingne’s mum, and possibly Cara. Unfortunately, despite all the build-up, this is the party at which you will end up passing out in the spare bedroom at 10.30pm — just as Cara arrives — because you allowed yourself to be over-served.
The Party With All Your Closest Friends
This never actually happens, because it was a nightmare finding a day that everyone could do, and then, when you did finally settle on one, you all agreed it would be better to forget it this year on account of being knackered, pressured, party-whipped and entering the really low phase of the seemingly everlasting two-week hangover. You all knew this would be the case, so there are no hard feelings. Besides, you’re all agreed that the best present you could ever give each other is the right to stay put — in the heat of the Christmas countdown — with a Domino’s in front of The Good Wife.
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