Mince pies and mulled wine, cocktails and canapes

Personally I think Christmas Day is crap, but I do like the build up to what is falsely labelled “the big day”. I lose interest after 25 December, but the rest of the month is usually filled with parties, socialising and general merriment.

Tonight some work buddies are coming to my place for an evening mince pies and mulled wine, the latter being of the homemade variety. The fact that most of them don’t like either of these foodstuffs is neither here nor there; it’s a chance to stuff our faces and exchange banter outside the office walls. A few poor soles have snuffles too, so it won’t be a mad one, but fun nonetheless.

On Saturday, the partying steps up a gear with cocktails and canapes (my pre-birthday celebrations) and then throwing some shapes out in town. I love parties, especially hosting them, although I do get a bit stressed by the incredibly impractical colour of my carpet and the fact people (and me, mostly) keep spilling things on it. Usually dark red liquids, sod’s law.

Throwing parties does have it’s downside. Things get messy – literally – so the next day is spent tidying up, clearing up broken glass and finding people’s left behind belongings – scarves, jewellery, the odd toothbrush or lip gloss etc. But that’s all outweighed by the fun factor. I like to think of myself as a social butterfly and Christmas is the time to be spreading my wings.

That said, I need to fly – gotta fish out that triple-disc Christmas CD…

Nearly 29 and none the wiser

As I rapidly approach my 29th birthday, eek, I wonder if I will ever grow out of doing totally stupid things – like getting totally plastered and feeling so ill the next day I almost call an ambulance out.

Okay, slight exaggeration; no ambulances. But, cripes, when will I learn that teetering around in a dress and high heels, drunk as a skunk and slurring my words, is not ladylike. And the hangover that follows is a complete waste of a day and the closest I’ll get to ever feeling like a corpse. Until I actually die, that is.

It was the volleyball Christmas do at the weekend – dinner, drinks, karaoke and dancing, and yet more drinks. As one of the organisers of this event I feel I ought to make an extra special effort to ensure it goes well and so conjured up a pass the parcel game to start off the festivities – with a framed photo of me and my fellow social secretary as the prize. Superb! It went down well.

But I also feel like I need to get drunk too, for some reason, and usually with some speed. And if I’m not merry by the time the main course comes out, then I feel I have to double up on drinkage. Stoopid, stoopid girl.

Anyhoo, the night was a blast and I particularly enjoyed mine and LJ’s rendition of Whitney H’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody and the volleyball boys’ Bohemian Rhapsody. Tuneful!

I rolled into my mate’s house at 3am ish, remembering very little – except I needed to get to the bathroom quickly! I’ll spare you the graphics, but I awoke the next morning in full make-up, dangly earrings still in place, and feeling like someone had bashed me around the head with a frying pan. Ugh!

A bacon and egg sarnie later – which didn’t stay down long – and I attempted the hour-long drive home as my mate had a family emergency to attend to. Bad move. With barely enough strength to hold the steering wheel and trying desperately not to vom in my own lap, I made the dangerous and no doubt illegal drive home.

On arrival, I collapsed in my bed and there I stayed for the whole day. It wasn’t until 6.30pm that I was able to keep solids down and I just felt awful. Hopefully, a lesson learned, ‘cos at the moment the thought of touching alcohol makes me tremour!

So, when I hit the grand age of 29 next week will this silly behaviour stop? I’d like to think so – and it does happen less and less frequently now I’m getting on a bit – but there are bound to be a few bloopers. Hopefully no more this year though, at least!

That time of year

In case you hadn’t noticed, Christmas is coming. I know, shocking isn’t it? People keep saying things like “I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping” and “what do you want for Chrimbo?”. Aaaarrrrgggh. And I’ve even found myself wanting to put the Christmas tree up too, although I realise it’s far too early. I must wait until December, at least.

We’re also having our Xmas works do next week, in part because it was cheaper to have it in November – credit crunch darlings, credit crunch! – and partly because everyone’s diary gets rammed in the festive season and a works do isn’t much fun with three of you pulling crackers at the bar.

There are 20 of us heading out next week for festive fun, scram scoffing, drastic dancing and no doubt followed by horrid hangovers. As the department’s self-appointed social secretary (no one else wanted this job title) I managed to get most of my colleagues on board by a) lying to them about the cost (I actually made an error and thought it was a couple of quid cheaper that it actually was, b) giving them no options about venue to avoid any disappointment and c) recruiting a colleague to canvas for me and bolster numbers.A nd if you make an error when organising the Christmas do (like the cost thing) always notify colleagues by email using the subject header “Christmas boob”. Everyone will read it, especially the blokes!

I’m also throwing in a fun Christmas quiz with prizes, based on quirky facts about my work buddies. One of them admitted to falling face down in a cow pat and another has streaked across a beach for a dare. It’s amazing how quickly they admit their most embarrassing actions. Bless ‘em.

So, yes, Christmas is coming. I am going to try really hard not to spend too much cash this Chrimbo but I know what I’m like – a spendaholic. I’ll set a budget for friends, £10 say, and that’ll be going great until I wander around the shops and catch sight of sparkly things, gift-wrapped things, sequined things, gift packs and two for the price of one offers. I’m like a bloody magpie! On the plus side, you get presents in return. No idea what I want this year, but here’s hoping Santa thinks I’ve been a good girl.

Hard to feel festive – when it’s JULY!

I’ve had a bit of a festive-themed day today – two meetings at work about Christmas cards and a text from the chairman of the volleyball club asking if, as social secretary, I can start thinking about venues for the Christmas bash.

Cripes folks, it’s only July and it seems so strange to be mentioning the C word! Anyway, one of the Christmas card meetings was like something out of a comedy sketch – myself and two colleagues sat around a table with a guy from one of the design agencies we pitching to work on the company Christmas card – I won’t bore you with the exact details of the project.

Anyway, this guy arrived a tad flustered as he’d got a bit lost, taken a phone call in the car, and just lost his focus. On dropping his stuff on the floor and knocking the conference phone on so we nearly jumped out of our seats, he exclaimed: “It’s going to be one of those days isn’t it?” It certainly was.

It wasn’t that the Christmas card ideas were bad, far from it, but this guy was clearly flustered and desperately trying to stay cool. And failing. He whipped out a mock-up of a card from his briefcase and…. wait for it… in doing so managed to whack me across the face with it, my nose mainly.

Me and my colleagues (me gripping my nose) just burst into fits of laughter and this guy melted in a pool of embarrassment. I really felt for him. He apologised a thousand times and we made a few jokes about Christmas cards being used as weapons.

It was just so funny, I can’t tell you. It’s probably a sign that we we talking about Christmas far too early in the year. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the meeting and this guy will forever be know as the chap who whacked his Christmas card idea around my face. It’s one way to make an impact I guess.

Festive flu

I’m usually pretty good at avoiding the Christmas germs which float around the office every December. But this year I spoke too soon. Literally, the day we broke up from work, and as I was heading home to Shropshire, I started to ache. By the time I got there two hours later I felt like death. And I just got worse.

By Christmas Eve – the day I was to fly out to Morocco – my nose and mouth had merged into one shiny patch of redness, my throat felt like it had been scraped with a fork and I was coughing like a seal on helium. Oh, and every bone in my body ached to the point it hurt the soles of my feet just to walk.

After a sobbing phone call to my mum and some sympathy off Jen and Lisa, my holiday companions, we headed to Boots and cleared the shelves of anything which might ease my suffering. I then packed my suitcase with about as much enthusiasm as a polar bear in hibernation and got through three packs of tissues just on the way to the airport. Festive was not the word to describe how I was feeling.

So, I made it to Morocco but spent the week feeling lifeless and not bothered about doing anything. My tender red nose turned into a mass of dry skin and my lips were so sore it looked like I’d drawn around them with red lip liner. At one point I thought I was going to cough my insides up. Friends and family will know I don’t leave the house without mascara on, but flu even took away my ability to apply make-up. Getting dressed was about as much as I could manage. And that was an effort.

So, this is day 10 since developing the lurgy and, although I still have a bit of a cough, I am almost back to full health. And a little bit smug at losing weight over the Christmas holiday – a combination of flu and Moroccan cuisine! So, what was Morocco like I hear you ask? That’s a whole other blog entry…

Christmas starts here…

The atmosphere in work is great today ‘cos everyone knows that when they clock off at 3pm, Christmas begins.

This is a new feeling for me, having had to work over the Christmas period every year since leaving college. And, quite frankly, it sucked. There really is no joy in returning to work the day after Boxing Day knowing that friends and family are still tucked up in bed and will spend the day scoffing chocs, watching nice films and catching up with mates and rellies.

Returning to the office – to put together a newspaper that no one will read – kinda kills the Christmas spirit for me. But this year is different. I have a new job with a company that celebrates Christmas by giving staff time off. And boy am I gonna make the most of it. This is the most festive I’ve felt in ages!

The weekend will be spent catching up with family – divorced parents means two lots of visits – and the obligatory visit to see nan (who is slowly losing her marbles and thinks I’ve been seconded to Milton Keynes on a special assignment. And she’ll no doubt ask me 20 times: “So dear, have you found yourself a young man yet?”)

Sunday will be my day, spent pottering at home, playing Christmas tunes, catching up with chores and cooking up a festive feast for Jen and Lisa who will accompany me to Morocco on Christmas Eve. Whoo hoo! We’ll tuck into tasty fodder, open gifts, watch Santa Claus the Movie and check we’ve packed our passports.

Yes, that’s right folks, I’m making the most of the Christmas break by jetting off to sunnier shores and kicking back for some proper r&r. What better way to end the year?

Merry Christmas to you all, ho ho ho!

Feeling festive

I watched Elf on TV last night and it’s got me feeling rather festive. So, in my lunch hour today I invested in a 6ft tree (I already have a little one at home but this year I want to go large) and I can’t wait to finish work and start decorating. Yes, I really am that sad.

Those who know me well will think I’ve been very restrained this yuletide. My tree often goes up in November but this year I have waited. And I can wait no longer. I seem to have a thing for flashing lights and bits of sparkle – bring on the mulled wine.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen the film Elf, it’s brilliant. It’s not only funny, festive and for families, it has confirmed something regarding my taste in men: no matter how desperate I get (and I’m not desperate yet, I have to point out) I could never fancy a guy in yellow tights!