Tomorrow (Friday the 13th – what could go wrong?) I am having a Christmas do, down that London.

This is with the people I was working with, only earlier this year.  As per usual, it’s a free bar and free food. It’d be rude not to go.  I hasten to add, that this soirée isn’t being held – or paid for – by the impecunious and somewhat, beleagured water board that I used to work for. No, this is being thrown – as it is every year – by their more affluent contract partner.

If it’s anything like last year (or the year before that, or the year before that) I shall likely get a little sozzled.

And, this isn’t my first Christmas party/lunch/get-together this year. This will be the fourth.

I’ve already had a get together with some old work colleagues, in Reading, this week.

Last Saturday, I attended the Xmas bash of the motorcycle club I belong to: forty of us turned up and pretty much took over the pub where it was being held, which was great fun.

And the day before that, I was with my old BT pals in ‘spoons in town.  Even though the food wasn’t brilliant, fourteen quid for Xmas lunch and a pint? Can’t knock that.
It seems though, that I had rather too much to drink.  One minute I was seated at the table, chatting away with the guys, next thing, I wake up the following morning, naked in bed, next to the wife.   Between those two events, I have nothing but a vague recollection of being bundled into a car.

I’ve not been that far gone in the last forty-five years!

I’m wondering whether someone spiked my six pints of Leffe?