Go hard or go home

So we had our work Christmas party the other night. And I was put in charge of organising it. Now, when it comes to parties I'm your guy, if you want to wake up in Scotland married to your dog. I wasn't entirely sure what my boss wanted when he gave me a budget and just said "go for it". So I went for something vaguely sophisticated; a three course meal at a posh local hotel, followed by a disco.

It began well. The entire workforce turned up, dressed snazzily as requested, and we were seated for a delicious meal. Where we fell down, however, was when my boss told the waiter that I was the organiser and therefore the wine list was to be handed to me.

I'm not a big wine drinker. It messes with my head. With beer and spirits, I know where I am. But it was a special occasion, so I ordered three bottles each of the house white and house red. These were promptly decimated, so I ordered another six bottles. Then another six. And so on. I realised at some point that about half of the people there weren't drinking, as they had to drive home. I looked around, and all of the wine bottles seemed to be on the table, in front of me and my other twentysomething colleagues. And it occurred to me that I was very, very drunk.

I've never gone into work on a Monday morning with such a mix of fear and excitement. Will the boss remember our dance off? Will he remember that I won? And does everybody else remember how the night ended?

Myself and about four others were holding up the bar, with another hour to go before our taxi showed up. One of the new guys, a self-professed lad, was catcalling suggestively at a cougar in a blue dress. "Blue dress! Blue dress!" He hollered. I decided this was fun, and joined in.

"Blue dress! You filthy slag!" Time stood still. Then Blue Dress's husband was towering over me, and I knew we had to get out of there.

Which is how we ended up waiting an hour for our taxi outside, in the snow, swigging from a bottle of red wine that a colleague had smuggled out in his coat. We took turns doing roly-poly's in the road, waving and making other gestures at passing cars, and generally acting like a bunch of louts. The cab eventually picked us up, and the others started giving the driver directions to their homes.

"No fucking way," I bellowed. "We're going to a club."

Work was interesting today. The boss did remember our dancing, although he seems to think he's got more game than me. I've allowed him to continue believing this. The others have laughed off our hour-long sojourn in the snow, in the small hours of the morning. It's been deemed, all in all, our best office party yet. Although I'm not sure I'll be given control of proceedings next year.

And we certainly won't be welcome at the hotel.

J. x