In which I just say no

"No" is not a word that I like to say very often. I feel that it is a closer of doors, a narrower of minds, and a killer of ideas. I'm much more of a yes man, to borrow Danny Wallace's popular coinage. Throughout my adult life I have made a conscious effort to try as many new things and be involved in as many new experiences as I possibly can.

So it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to anybody else when I found myself turning down offers on Saturday night that, at any other time in my life up until now, I would have snapped up. Hungrily, eagerly and greedily.

"Do you party?" One man asked me in the club. He was of course not inquiring as to whether I like a drink and a dance. He wanted to know whether I partake in ecstasy. I don't, although a dalliance with cocaine was one of the more colourful highlights of my lost year at university.

"Sure!" I would have said, on any night before this one. "How else to make a balanced decision about the dangers of drugs?"

I believe my actual response was a mumbled, "No, thanks", and a shimmy in the opposite direction.

In another bar, me and Al made some new friends in Lou and Rachael, a lesbian couple. We were chatting away when Lou cut in:

"Do you like Charlie?"

What is this? I thought. I felt the urge to look for hidden cameras.

"I'm aware of his work," I said, "but I'm not a huge fan." She seemed disappointed.

Later, Al and I were dancing. A large portion of the night had been spent jiving to some of our favourite songs, but by now the music had evolved into that 3am flow of senseless base. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a guy watching us. He was tall, and as he danced his way over I could see that he was quite handsome. Al and I carried on as if we hadn't noticed, but we both knew what he was doing. He was looking at Al, then me, then back to Al, and so on. He was weighing us up like pieces of meat. And he evidently made his choice, because I felt a strong arm around my waist.

"No chance, wanker," I said loudly, dipping out of his grasp and pulling Al towards the bar. "What a guido, right?"

Al looked at me, then back to our new friend, who was still standing on the dancefloor, and still watching us. There was no denying it. He was very hot.

"Go." Al said.

"No," I said, for the third time that evening. "Bros over hoes, remember?" *

In the past, I would have chased any dragon that promised to keep the party going. I would have fallen into bed with just about any man who showed the slightest bit of interest. And I would have ditched friends to do so. I'm starting to think I'm growing as a person - but don't tell anyone. It might just be a phase.

J. x

* I am obviously kidding. I totally slept with him.

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