...spent mainly drifting in and out of consciousness. Then I went to The Rag Christmas party. I perked up due to (a) an office turbohottie sitting next to me, and (b) cider. Sadly I had to sit out the passing of a sack around for Secret Santa, as no fucker had told me we were doing it. Humbug!
What was quite good fun was writing down three little-known facts about ourselves, having them all read out, and guessing whose belonged to whom. I wrote the following :
1. A recurring nightmare I used to have.
2. My porn name is Spitz Williams.
3. I once had a set of handcuffs confiscated at Dublin airport.
I was told by one of the reporters that she had guessed me for no less than four of her answers (there were about fifteen of us); which led me to believe that people must take me for some kind of degenerate. One of the people's facts was 'When I was being potty trained, whenever my mother went to answer the door or the phone, I would eat my own excrement'. I do hope no-one chose me for that one.
The evening ended with a jaunt into town, where we got everyone to dance individually (based on the hypothesis that people have sex in a similar fashion to the way they boogie), got more drunk, saw a fight, got drenched in a deluge whilst waiting for a taxi, and had a kebab. Go archetypal Saturday night!
