Well my droogies, my hectic wectic social life climbs ever higher to an unbelievably astronomical peak.
This evening: OU Tutorial.
My appetite whetted but I can barely contain
my trousers myself in preparation for…
Tomorrow evening: The Yard Christmas Meal. This is a tough call because it’s also Reader’s Group but as I haven’t finished Cranford I considered not going to The Yard Christmas Meal for 1.47383847765428442 nanoseconds before rejecting the notion. Mind you, knowing my luck I’ll end up sitting next to young Laura! The shame is that Tracey isn’t going. She’s a laugh when she’s had a skinful. Anyway…
As if these events aren’t enough to slake ones Bacchanalian thirst…
Wednesday: the office Christmas lunch! Ah, joy of joys, love of loves, heartbreak of heartbreaks. The office Christmas lunch. So much part of institutional life it’s almost like a five year spell in Broadmoor. Actually this is a true story: It was one particularly awful office Christmas party that inspired the early section of my novel Crossing The Line. That part of the story really did happen – the ghastly paper hats, the terrible disco, the awful decorations and the people wearing inappropriate clothes. It’s all coming flooding back to me. I think I need to go and lie down. In a darkened room. With alcohol!
So tomorrow evening and the following lunchtime I shall be steering my way through some dodgy vegetarian dishes, not drinking booze and trying to avoid wearing prattish paper hats whilst observing some fellow members of my species in their (un)natural habitats.
Ho ho ho.