A LITTLE LATE, BUT BETTER LATE THAN NEVER! 

I have spent the past month working fourteen hour days, to finish all the work which “must be completed before Christmas”, lest the world comes to an end…… 

Everyone else is in unspeakably good moods because it’s the Christmas Party.   I hate all this false bonhomie and cheeriness.  What’s so exciting about two weeks of socialising with colleagues and relatives you would rather cross the road to avoid?

 But, it seems, I’m the only one in Grinch mood.   Liz has decorated her office with tinsel, The Boss is sporting a festive tie and Alex is practising his dance moves in my office…..  

“Oh What a Night, Late December, 2009….”

“Will you stop behaving like a teenager?” I snap.

“Oooooooooooh, someone’s in a bad mood!” he laughs, and continues. “It’s the Christmas Party – get with it!  What a very special ti-i-me for me….”

“I have work to do.”

“No you don’t, you’re just in a bad mood cos Jane is leaving.”

“That is not why I am in a bad mood and she is not leaving.”

“She’s going to be a politician.”

“No she isn’t. She only decided to become an MP last week.   Even with the best will in the world, she isn’t likely to get into Parliament at the next election, is she?”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.” he warns.  “She’s already signed up as one of Cameron’s Cuties.”

“Sorry?”

 ”She’s joined the Tory Party.”

“Miss Independence; joined the Tories?  I don’t believe you. ”

“Ask her.”

I do. “Have you joined the Conservative Party?”

“Yes,” she gives me a defiant look.

“But you have spent the last few years saying that all political parties were greedy, self-centred leeches on society.”

“I haven’t changed my views on that.”

“Then why have you joined them?”

“If I stand any chance of being Prime Minister I have to set aside my prejudices against party politics, like Robert Peel.”

“Prime Minster?  Last week you were only aiming to be an MP.”

“I know, but the fact is, Helen, the country needs me.”

Like it needs a nuclear winter. 

But I do not voice this concern; instead, I change the subject, lest her Margaret Thatcher tendencies extend to handbag battering.  “Have you met your local group yet?”

“No.  But I’m seeing them in January for their annual “Winter Warmer”.”

“What’s that?”

“A sort of fundraising bash.   Do you want to come along?”

“Not really.”

“Great, I’ll get you a ticket.”

I don’t have time to protest because The Boss appears. “Morning Helen!” he greets me.  “Are you looking forward to the Party this evening?”

No. “Yes, of course.”

“I know it’s not the big extravagant event of previous years, but with the Credit Crunch and all, the Management Board felt it wasn’t prudent to  hold a firm celebration when we’ve laid hundreds of people off, but they wanted to reward the productive teams like insolvency and litigation.”

The wreckers and bailiffs of the legal world!

“That’s kind of them.”

“Well, as you may appreciate, I played no small part in arranging it.”

“I’m sure.  Do you know what the Social Committee has planned?”

“I do,” he nods. “But I am not permitted to say.”

“Does it involve Tequila or Karaoke?”

“No.”  Thank god. “But that is all I am willing to divulge.  Now, if you will excuse me, I must get on.”

He sashays out humming, “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly, Tra La La La La La La La La…..”.

The day wears on and excitement levels are almost at fever pitch. 

“What do you think we will be doing?!” Alex gasps.

“I don’t know. But if Danielle, Lynnette and Melinda are in charge it won’t be sophisticated, cultured or enjoyable.”

“You say that, but the Ice Skating/Mexican/Salsa Dancing event last year was a big success.”

“Melinda fractured her wrist and Liz told all the partners that she loved them.”

“Exactly!  What more do you want from a Christmas party?!”

At five pm we receive an e-mail from the Committee.

“Will you all, please, put down your work and assemble in the typing pool area in thirty minutes.  Wear your party gear but make sure you bring warm clothes.  Many thanks.  The Social Committee.”

“A clue!” Alex squeals. “We need warm clothes, we must be going outside!”

“Well, done Sherlock.  What an astonishing piece of deduction: we are leaving the building.”

“Oh be quiet, Grinch,” he pinches me.

“Well, all this really tells us is that we’re not holding the celebrations in the Conference Room.”

This was one of our fears: warm wine and canapes with the Senior Partner…..

“Well, at least that’s something!  Now, come on, get your glad rags on, you only have half an hour!”

I don’t have any “glad rags”.  I have my usual funereal black dress with industrial strength support underwear.  There is nothing “glad” about it.  It takes several attempts (and a lot of swearing) to struggle into it.   I am just doing the zip when Alex bursts in with the others.

“Come on!”

“I’m coming.”

“Get your coat on and bring some sensible shoes,” Liz agrees.  She picks my trainers off the floor and bundles them into a bag.  Alex is plucking my hat and scarf off my chair and stuffing them around my head.   Jane watches, amused, from the door way.  She is dressed like a White Russian, in military coat and fur hat.  

“You look like a Bond villainess,” I tell her.

“Do I?” she is pleased by this.

“Yes,” Alex agrees. ”Rosa Klebb! ha ha ha!”

“You won’t be so flippant when I’m in power,” she flashes him a malevolent look.

“Yes I will!” he guffaws.  “In fact, more so.  You politicians take yourselves far too seriously.”

As do lawyers.  But not this evening, as the Social Committee has some levelling outfits for us to wear.

“Elf hats!” Jane exclaims. “I am not wearing an elf hat!”

“Sorry,” Danielle smirks, “But you are.”  She hands her a red, fur-lined number with a pom-pom on the top.  

“I am not.”

“Oh yes you are!” The Boss tells her. “You all are.  Everyone except me.”

“Why are you exempt?”

“Because I’m The Boss.”

Melinda and Danielle are laughing conspiratorially behind him.   “You know you told us you wouldn’t wear an elf hat?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you didn’t say nothin’ about a Scrooge hat!” she produces the longest night cap I have ever seen.  Before he can protest they have executed a pincer movement and placed it on his head.  It trails down to his knees and makes him look exactly like Ebenezer Scrooge.  Much to the amusement of the assembled throng.

“Bah, humbug,” he mutters, “I shall dock you a day’s wages for this!”

“It’s worth it!” Danielle laughs, as Lynnette takes a snap of him with her camera.

“And you!”

“Go on,” she shrugs. “It will cost you more in administration than it will cost me; on the pittance I get paid!”

More laughter as The Boss realises he’s outnumbered and gives up.  

“Could I ‘ave your attention, please?” Melinda attempts to address the crowd.  No one hears her.  She tries again. “Could I please ‘ave your attention?”  Still nothing.  She grips a chair, leaps up on to it and lets out a piercing whistle. “Oi! Shut up and listen, will ya?!”

We fall silent. 

“Right, you’ve all got your ‘ats.  So, now it’s time for the fun to begin.  Head downstairs and wait in front of the building. We’ll be along to direct you, shortly. Ok?”

“Ok,” we nod.

“Good.  Off you go!”

We shuffle to the lifts and down to the foyer, passing various disgruntled colleagues along the way.   Fergus tells us it’s a disgrace to be spending the firms’ money when so many jobs are in jeopardy, but, frankly, it’s more of a disgrace that he’s still got one, so we ignore him.  

Outside an icy wind whips about our shoulders as we stand on the pavement, waiting for phase two to begin.  

“What do you think we’re doing?” Liz wonders.

“Don’t know,” Alex shrugs. “But I hope it’s not ice-related.  I’m still nursing bruises from last year.”

“I think this year will be worse,” Jane observes.  “We are already dressed as elves and it’s not even six pm.”

“Perhaps we’re going to help Santa in his grotto!” he exclaims. “That would be fun.”

“Santa isn’t real.”

“You’re not going to get far as a politician with blunt talk like that.” he laughs. 

Before Jane can reply, we see Danielle, Melinda and Lynnette waving at us from the back of a shiny, red Route-Master bus, with “CWS PARTY PALACE” emblazoned on the front.

“Come on!” they shout from the door. “Clamber aboard.”

“You have got to be kidding?” Jane looks askance.

“Nah!  It’s great innit?!  Wait til you see what’s inside!”

We pull her on (lest we get crushed in the stampede) and head for the table at the back of the top deck.   It is safe to say they have spared no expense with the decorations.  Twinkly lights adorn the windows, fake snow covers every surface and a flashing snowman is perched on every table.

“If this is what they’ve done to a bus, I would hate to see what their houses look like,” Liz observes.  

“Bling-tastic!” Alex laughs.  “I love it.  Look, the snowman can sing.”

He flicks a switch and “Walking in the Air,” (in high, screechy tones) is projected across the bus.

“Aled Jones would have heart failure.”

“Attention!” Danielle is up again.  She and Melinda have now changed into full elf costumes, complete with short shirts and stripy green and red tights.  Lynnette (looking more like Mrs Claus) is sporting an oversized red fur-trimmed coat.  ”Welcome to the Party Palace!” Danielle continues. “Thank you for joining us on this magical journey.”

“What’s magical about a neon-covered Route Master?” Jane sniffs.

“For the next two hours,” Melinda joins in, “you will be transported from The City of London to The North Pole as we ride with Father Christmas and his elves to their secret grotto.   We will have Christmas Cocktails, Christmas games and, best of all, each one of you will have a chance to visit Santa and tell him what you would like him to bring you on Christmas morning.”

“A new secretary,” I whisper. 

“In a few moments, ” she continues, “we will be coming round with mulled wine and mince pies, but in the meantime, sit back, relax and enjoy the CWS Party Palace!”

It doesn’t take long for the “magic” to wear off.   Melinda and Danielle serve mulled wine which strips the enamel off teeth and mince pies which do not appear to have been touched by fruit.   Still, we have the games to look forward to.    We kick off with a round of “guess the celebrity” from some magazine cut-outs Lynnette has prepared.   This is followed by “Pin the Carrot on the Snowman” and then a raucous round of “Guess Who”.   The evening culminates with a queue to see Santa, in his grotto, downstairs.  

“What are you going to ask for?” Jane asks Tarquin.

“I am not telling you,” he sniffs.

“Why not?  He’s not real.  Even if you ask for a new personality he won’t be able to give you one.”

“I am not the one in need of a new personality, although I am in need of new colleagues, so perhaps I shall ask for that…..”

“Good idea,” she agrees. “We’ll all ask Santa to give you new colleagues!”

He turns his back on her in disgust.

“I’m going to ask for a new Boss,” Liz laughs.

“Don’t let him hear you saying that.”

“It won’t  matter.  Remember last year, when I told him he was the worst boss in the world?”

How could we forget?

“He wasn’t remotely offended by that,” she goes on “In fact, I think he rather liked it.”

“He did. He relishes his evil reputation.”

Unfortunately for us.

“What are you going to ask for, Jane?” Alex asks.

“For an end to this ridiculous charade,” she declares.  “And a parliamentary seat in the Cotswolds.”

“The Cotswolds?”

“I want a second home allowance,” she laughs.

“Liz, what do you want?”

“I’d like a new man,” she smiles.  “With a good job, a nice flat and the ability to do his own ironing.”

“Wouldn’t we all!” he laughs. “Helen, what about you?”

“A flat in Paris, an apartment in Rome, ten million in the bank, the ability to time travel, world peace, an end to child poverty and employee empowerment at CWS.”

“I think he might struggle with the last one.”

Judging by the overpowering smell of gin in his “grotto” I think he might struggle with all of them.

“Hello young lady,” he grins. “Would you like to sit on my knee?”

“No thanks.” I take the chair.

“Are you looking forward to Christmas?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Oh.” This is clearly not the answer he is expecting.  “Well, er, I’m sure you just need a little more mulled wine and you’ll be fine.”

Mulled wine being the cure for all the world’s ills!

“So,” he grins, “What would you like me to bring you for Christmas?”

“I would like a new job please.”

“A new job?” he chuckles. “But you work for such a great company!  Why would you like a new job?”

“Where would you like me to start?  Because my Boss is a bully, my hours are too long, my clients are creepy, my secretary doesn’t do any work, my office smells of stale cabbage -”

“Ok, ok!” he silences me with his hand. “I will see what I can arrange.   In the meantime, I’m sure a wind-up torch will do instead!”

He presses a small, mechanical device in to my hand and gestures for me to leave.

The others are waiting outside.  “What present did you get?”  They crowd round.

I show them the torch.

“Well, that’s better than mine,” Alex shows me his screwdriver set. “When I am ever going to use that?”

“What about mine?” Liz displays her cookery book.

“And mine,” Jane produces a vanity kit.  

“A vanity kit?” we laugh. 

“I know!” she exclaims. “It’s as if he deliberately picked the most inappropriate presents for each of us!  Like he’s sending us a message: Alex hates DIY, Liz hates cooking and I have little interest in my fashion.”

“What does mine say, then?”

That stumps them.

“You’re scared of the dark?”

“Your flat doesn’t have electricity?”

I waylay Melinda and ask.  “Did you choose the gifts from Santa?”

“Yeah, I mean no!” she giggles. “Santa chose them.”

“Come off it, Santa is too tipsy to speak coherently, nevermind think.”

“Oh, all right then, yeah, we chose em, me and Dan.  Why?”

“Do they have some sort meaning?”

“Yeah!” she laughs.  “We bought you things we thought you needed.”

“Then please explain why you think I need a wind-up torch?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy.  You can use it when you’re working when everyone else has gone home and they switch the lights off in the office! ha ha ha!”

“Thanks.”

She swishes off to fix more snowballs for the girls.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I get a present which enables me to work even harder!   Ho ho ho! 

Tarquin is more annoyed than me though.  He got: “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

“Santa seems remarkably insightful today,” Jane observes.

“If this is some sort of funny little joke, I am not amused,” he sniffs. 

“Not a joke.  A self-help guide,” she laughs.  “Santa is teaching you a useful life lesson.”

“I don’t need an overweight drunk in a red suit to give me lessons.”

“Are you slandering Santa?” Dan sidles up to us. 

“He is not Santa.”

“If you don’t believe in him, he won’t visit you on Christmas morning.”

“If he brings presents like this, I don’t care!” he stomps off to give Danielle a piece of his mind.

“What did you get, Dan?” Alex asks.

He holds up a box of novelty ice cubes.  “Melinda tells me I need to cool myself down.”

“Really?” Jane’s eyebrow is twitching with amusement.

“Yeah., she says I’m too hot to handle…..”

Liz makes a retching sound behind her hand.  

“And what did you get Liz?” he turns around. “A pair of thermal knickers?!”

“No I did not!” she says indignantly. “I got a cookbook, thank you very much!”

“Oh,” he flashes an amused look. “Well, in that case, I shall look forward to sampling some beans on toast or egg salad, perhaps.”

“You will be the last one to sample my wares,” she sniffs.

“Attention please everyone!” Melinda is clapping her elf-hands again. “We have reached The North Pole.   Please disembark with care, it is very cold outside. And we do not want any of you to be attacked by penguins.”

“Penguins are only found in the South Pole,” Tarquin informs her.

“Well, I dunno, Inuits then, anyway, just get off the bus and make your way inside.”

“Inside” happens to be An Ice Bar, where we all have to don even more thermal clothing but, after twenty minutes we are whisked downstairs to “The Grotto”, a Christmas-themed nightclub.  Some of the elder members of the party make their excuses and leave but the rest of us take advantage of the free cocktails. Melinda and Danielle change into their party gear – two pieces of lycra held together with dental floss – and we all dance round our handbags to The Nolans.  We are all well and truly on the way to being sozzled when, without warning, the lights go out. 

“It’s ok,” shouts the DJ, “It’s a dodgy connection, happens all the time.  Carry on and I’ll fix it!”

We keep dancing as I remember my present from Santa.  With a quick fumble in my bag I crank it up and switch on the torch, suddenly there is illumination.  Unfortunately (for them,) the beam falls on Liz and Dan, in the middle of the floor - snogging! 

“Looks like someone’s Christmas wish has just come true,”  Jane laughs, as they spring apart. “Do you think Santa’s magic might work on the rest of us?!”

“I certainly hope so,” Alex laughs.  “I asked to be the new Doctor Who!”

A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL AA READERS.  HERE’S TO 2010!