The Work Pardy

My office can be pretty lolz when it wants to be. Ply us with some booze, a long lunch and an early finish and you'll have us whooping, slurring and huddling round a table bitching collectively about all the other departments in no time.

"OMG... you hate her too? We should like, definitely hang out more"

Friday 10th Jan was our Christmas party aka 'It's a New Years party because it's cheaper this way' day and boy was it a riot. Finishing work at around 5pm, beers/ wine/ pina coladas in a can in hand, the girls went off to the ladies loos to get glammed up (in the worst lit toilets known to man) while the boys did a swift trainer-to-loafer swap. A quick trip to the Golden Arches for a stomach lining Big Mac and fries, we then departed to our swanky venue round Bank way to mingle with the wankers folk in suits.

On arrival, we were greeted by basically one of these: Avici/ Calvin Harris/ Guetta (all the greats) as we waited to collect our neon orange wristbands laden with four free drink tokens. We then made our way down to our PRIVATE PARTY BETCHES area where we were met with a glass of champs. Now if you were clever enough or just plain skanky enough, the trick was to do a quick lap of the downstairs before coming in through an alternative entrance.  A couple of "ooooo it's nice down here isn't it?'s" in your best "I've just arrived" tone, you then hid your empty glass behind a pillar with one hand and picked up another cheeky flute with the other. A few glasses in and a little bit piddly at just before 8pm, everyone was well on their way.

So down to where the real paaaaardy was going on, it was time to get those tokens out and get guzzling. Now while our booze tickets included cocktails, it was clear to see in about 0-5 seconds that the bar staff could whip up maybe half a mojito in the space of around an hour? Feeling the wane of their unbearable slowness, my mates and I decided wine was probably the best option in terms of the 'getting served to getting smashed ratio' and so had to unfortunately bypass the Long Islands. Boo. This coupled with queues five people deep, it was time to keep a beady eye on the drinks situation. I spotted a space at the bar for me to squeeze into...just around the same time that said space was covered in vomit. Absolutely EWW. Turns out it was the by product of one of the newbies. He then decided to embarrass himself just a tad more by falling over in his own sick, all before he was escorted out like Bambi on ice by two burly bouncers. This couldn't have gone down any later than about 8.30pm.

LOL.*

"YOUUUUUUUU W-W-W-WASTEMAN"

Moving on from the moronic party silliness and finally getting served two drinks a pop, my mate and I, in fits, made it over to the empty dance floor to shake our things; myself in a pink PVC skirt (sure) and her in really high red heels that she could definitely walk in all night. I can't begin to tell you what we were thrusting, jiving and doing the running man too, but it was fun. Sweating my absolute nuts off, we danced the night away with the rest of our department, the odd sleazy sales rep and the guy that sells the office soup.

After a session of strutting, yelling and tangled up twirlings on the dancefloor with whoever came into our sights, we also found the time to do a drunken 'HAPPY NEW YEARRRRR' glass clinking cheers with my ex and his friend alongside a slurred mumble of: "Are you having a good night? Yeah? Kewl. Ummm sweet, umm.. Ok byeeeee".

So it was good to feel no awkwardness or anything in that situation. Definitely a highlight. FOR SURE.

For a change of scenery and for some hope of finding a gasp of real life oxygen, we made our way to the upstairs bar. Once again, you had to try and nestle in and claim your rightful space, even if it meant resting just your little finger on the sticky surface using  the odd elbow if need be. Taking the edge off,  the DJ took a turn for the better and we got stopped in our hustling  tracks by the sound of sunshiney bashment vibes. In the space of two seconds, we'd gunfingered our way out of the queue so as to get low to a bit of 'Whine and Kotch'. The suits looked on in shock, in pure disbelief that 'The Wanted' had stopped playing.

And so as the lolz continued into the early hours, it was time to call it a night (at around a time I can't remember). Picking up our coats from the cloakroom, we spotted heels in hands and broken feet plus various 'one night only' inter-departmental couplings.  In search of late night chicken, a few of us left and took a drunken amble towards Liverpool Street not before taking a quick detour up to the 39th floor of the Heron Tower to Duck & Waffle. Of course. One wrong lift stop off, three cocktails and 40 quid down, we’d managed to annoy the hell out of everyone having their quiet night cap as well as the waiter who looked like he was going to burst into tears after having  to look after three really irritating little children. After a blurry couple of selfies with the London skyline in the background, it was time to head home. Needless to say, it was too late for chicken at this point which was a bit shit.

"Let's just go for ONE. LAST. DRINK. GUYS"

* We later found that he had stolen few bottles of spirits from upstairs  earlier in the night. After being chucked out, newbie then spent the rest of the evening outside, on some form of makeshift stool, IN THE RAIN, begging to come back in. At one point he tried to kick down the entrance rope. So that was really really kewl to see.