I go to an office party!!!

This is highly exciting, as I don’t have an office now. But I was kindly invited by the company for which (grammar) I used to work.

It is in London. I walk in wonder through the brightly-lit streets like Paul Hogan on his first trip from the Outback to New York.

That’s me. I am the Norfolk Paul Hogan. Turkey Dundee.

There is a nagging doubt in my mind that my ‘nautical theme’ costume is rubbish. The Village Shop is not much good for fancy dress, so I have sellotaped a picture of a cow, a can of Fosters and a chocolate bar to a pole, and gone as a historical re-enactment of the Mutiny on the Bounty.

My other worry is that this company is now a big customer of mine, and so it would be unwise to get really drunk and start saying things I regret. Like:

“You know why I left? You’re all idiots!!! You idiotic idiots!!!”

or

“I’ve got this website…”

or

“You may well be bitter that you’re just known as ‘the Reception Girl’. But tonight – my dear – I shall make you a woman.”

My costume has a hit and miss success rate, and sooner or later somebody eats my chocolate bar thus ruining the whole concept, but generally I seem to have a good time.

I return by train to the village, hungover but energised.

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