Meaningless, meaningless

Work Christmas party this afternoon.  It got a bit weird.  We'd had our own little analytical unit do on Monday, but this was the full on rowdy-middle-aged-admins-playing-spin-the-bottle affair.

 The meal itself was most unChristmaslike, solely by virtue of not being very big.  We were in one of those pubs that pretends to be posh by giving you tiny portions.  That in itself was enough to mean everyone was twice as drunk as they would have otherwise been when we left.

 My director started asking Julian and George who the most fanciable woman in the unit is.  George wouldn't say, but said he liked violinists.  I'd spent a good portion of our unit do playing carols on my fiddle so I was slightly perturbed.  George is as camp as a row of pink tents and I can't get my head round the fact that he doesn't like boys (I keep asking him just to make sure).  It's just wrong for him to be straight.

I left the pub a chastened woman.  This was my first work Christmas part ever (physics ones don't count) and I have concluded that the world of work is full of too many pent-up frustrations to mix with alcohol.  Next time I will just say no.