Christmas: What happens when office party revellers meet pub regulars – Steve Cardownie
WE are well and truly into office party time as hordes of revellers descend on city pubs, either dressed in their best Saturday night finery or bedecked in horrendous Christmas jumpers, usually set off with plastic antlers perched perilously on their heads.
Having consumed their traditional Christmas meal accompanied with copious amounts of Prosecco or Tennents they usually decide to entertain the general populace by infiltrating local hostelries, locust-like, belting out Wham! or Wizzard festive ditties, demonstrating to anyone who is unfortunate enough to be within earshot that they are incapable of holding a tune. Not that it bothers them as they continue down the perilous road of consuming far more alcohol in one day than they normally imbibe in a week.
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Hide AdPub regulars shoot disdainful looks at the inebriated gang who are impervious to any insult, implicit or otherwise. Spilling drinks across tables and walking in shoes with the heel broken off, they are only intent on having fun until it comes for the time to shout to Hughie down the big white telephone.
Stumbling into the street looking for a taxi driver who is desperate enough to risk taking them to their residence (if they can remember the address), they give little thought to the huge hangover that is waiting to greet them as they surface around noon next day.
“Dreams of Santa, dreams of snow/Fingers numb, faces aglow/Christmas time, mistletoe and wine”
Get a life Cliff, eh?