Pickled, again

There is no such thing as 'just one drink', unless that drink happens to be lime soda (M. thinks it tastes of toilet bleach).

Yesterday we closed a deal that had been rumbling on since April. To celebrate this, the team decided to go for 'just one drink' at Dot Cod. One colleague had to leave after just one drink because she had to cook for her dinner party (tonight), the other two had been sleep-deprived for over a week in the run-up to the closing so they had to go to bed after just one drink. I had to go home after just one drink because I needed to pick up my laundry (now stewing at the laundrette for four days, yet again).

Four bottles of Chardonnay and three and a half hours later, we decided that (1) vegetarian meals are easy enough to prepare in advance ("How long could it possibly take to make a salad?" asked one colleague as he wolfed down slices of lamb), (2) lesbian experiences are satisfying in a different way from a heterosexual encounter, (3) it is not a good idea to go out with a man who is eight years younger than you, (4) one colleague was definitely homophobic, (5) I don't know who Adam and the Ants are, (6) Atomic Kitten, Michelle Branch and the Sugababes are not familiar icons to people over the age of thirty four.

We finished singing all the songs we could remember from the Eighties, then one colleague decided we needed to inject some 'culture' into the night so we hummed bits of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Nessun Dorma and something by Elgar.

Only fifty per cent. of the team has turned up for work this morning, so far.