We had the work Christmas party on Friday.
Some genius decided that it would be a good idea to have everyone stand in a field next to a theme park (packed with children on holidays) for three hours, with the only cover being a tree up one end of the paddock.
A large group of us clustered around in the meagre shade, and we were accurately compared to a herd of cows looking for shelter.
Its winter everywhere else it would seem, so I need to set the scene.
Imagine somewhere really hot (Americans can think of Death Valley, Brits will remember Spain in the summer, and Eastern Europeans can use Chernobyl as a benchmark)
Now set a couple of tables out, and across the glaring white tablecloth, marshal regiments made up of bottles of beer, and plastic cups of cheap white wine.
Next door, line up a crew of minimum wage unfortunates (this is minimum wage in Oz so it's not quite as bad as minimum wage in the U.S.) to stand in the sun dressed up like penguins, to man the row of bain-maries filled with sausages, and sweaty chicken drumsticks.
The whole affair was pretty badly organised. It took me more then two hours to discover that there were bottles of champagne and red wine available behind the bar (at least red wine is tolerable when it is lukewarm.)
A work Christmas party, is made up of a crowd of people desperately trying to socialise, and the main thing we have in common, apart from drinking, eating, and fucking (pardon for the language Gypsy) is that we all work for the same company.
Which is why I was desperately trying to steer conversations away from work, cause invariably it would turn into a bitch fest (and I'm really tired of complaining.)
So being as I work in the more technical part of our biz, the conversation gravitated towards talking about Nintendo's new game console, the Wii.
One controls this new game console, by waving around a plastic wand.
It's very kinetic, involving for all ages, and hilarious to watch others play.
After three hours roasting in the sun (I have a touch of red today,) a group of us jumped on a water taxi and headed across the harbour to a boutique brewer over in the city centre.
Over the six hours, others appeared (word of mouth is an amazing thing) and hidden away in the bowls of a harbour side pub, we all allowed the alcohol and the dark closeness to take us under.
There arn't any photos cause I reckon it's a bit rude to take a camera to work functions where there will be booze (hidden microphones I'm ok with.)
I didn't score a snog but there were lots of emotional people sobbing into drinks, and hugs.
There were bosses declaring that they weren't bad people. I told the six foot plus-square jawed-Italian-sky diver, that emotionally he was a five year old, and that he had never suffered (it turned out to be a good call.)
And there was one girl, who was surround by a group of guys, soulfully consoling her about her break up with a boy in the office, who was now dating the blond that had snogged half the guys at last years Christmas party (a group of guys consoling a drunk girl is code for a group of guys jostling to be the one that takes her home.)
There is something about a work Christmas party, and a release of pressure.
Woke up Saturday morning to find a trail of clothes across the flat leading to the shower.
It was a perfect morning lucky. It's been really hot the last couple of days, but the sea breeze blew through the flat, cooling my forehead.
Drank lots of water, napped a bit (once on the floor,) wondered down to the rock pools to molest the crabs for a bit.
Some genius decided that it would be a good idea to have everyone stand in a field next to a theme park (packed with children on holidays) for three hours, with the only cover being a tree up one end of the paddock.
A large group of us clustered around in the meagre shade, and we were accurately compared to a herd of cows looking for shelter.
Its winter everywhere else it would seem, so I need to set the scene.
Imagine somewhere really hot (Americans can think of Death Valley, Brits will remember Spain in the summer, and Eastern Europeans can use Chernobyl as a benchmark)
Now set a couple of tables out, and across the glaring white tablecloth, marshal regiments made up of bottles of beer, and plastic cups of cheap white wine.
Next door, line up a crew of minimum wage unfortunates (this is minimum wage in Oz so it's not quite as bad as minimum wage in the U.S.) to stand in the sun dressed up like penguins, to man the row of bain-maries filled with sausages, and sweaty chicken drumsticks.
The whole affair was pretty badly organised. It took me more then two hours to discover that there were bottles of champagne and red wine available behind the bar (at least red wine is tolerable when it is lukewarm.)
A work Christmas party, is made up of a crowd of people desperately trying to socialise, and the main thing we have in common, apart from drinking, eating, and fucking (pardon for the language Gypsy) is that we all work for the same company.
Which is why I was desperately trying to steer conversations away from work, cause invariably it would turn into a bitch fest (and I'm really tired of complaining.)
So being as I work in the more technical part of our biz, the conversation gravitated towards talking about Nintendo's new game console, the Wii.
One controls this new game console, by waving around a plastic wand.
It's very kinetic, involving for all ages, and hilarious to watch others play.
After three hours roasting in the sun (I have a touch of red today,) a group of us jumped on a water taxi and headed across the harbour to a boutique brewer over in the city centre.
Over the six hours, others appeared (word of mouth is an amazing thing) and hidden away in the bowls of a harbour side pub, we all allowed the alcohol and the dark closeness to take us under.
There arn't any photos cause I reckon it's a bit rude to take a camera to work functions where there will be booze (hidden microphones I'm ok with.)
I didn't score a snog but there were lots of emotional people sobbing into drinks, and hugs.
There were bosses declaring that they weren't bad people. I told the six foot plus-square jawed-Italian-sky diver, that emotionally he was a five year old, and that he had never suffered (it turned out to be a good call.)
And there was one girl, who was surround by a group of guys, soulfully consoling her about her break up with a boy in the office, who was now dating the blond that had snogged half the guys at last years Christmas party (a group of guys consoling a drunk girl is code for a group of guys jostling to be the one that takes her home.)
There is something about a work Christmas party, and a release of pressure.
Woke up Saturday morning to find a trail of clothes across the flat leading to the shower.
It was a perfect morning lucky. It's been really hot the last couple of days, but the sea breeze blew through the flat, cooling my forehead.
Drank lots of water, napped a bit (once on the floor,) wondered down to the rock pools to molest the crabs for a bit.
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