Tribewanted: Vorovoro

Current mood: amused

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"Halt – security van is under attack !!! Please clear the vicinity !!!". The security guards who deliver the money for the cashpoint in the office reception locked themselves out of their van today. Highly amusing. I watched intently waiting for the the van to self-destruct and scatter crisp (as in burnt) tenners all over the courtyard as they attempted to break back into their van with a variety of screwdrivers. Alas, no joy. For me anyway. Been an hour now and they’re still trying.

The last Monday at work for 2006. The last week of excess until Christmas itself is upon us when the daily overdose of alcohol makes way for an Eat-as-much-as-you-like-all-day-you-big-fat-tub-of-lard Fest which probably comes closer to killing me than the booze. A rough estimate would put me about 8 times over the limit (for sitting down) since December the 1st. I think it’s what doctors would call a permanent vegetatative state. I have my suspicions that the film "Awakenings" must have been based on a bunch of similar folk who’d just finished the party season and were going through their January detox, and for a brief period were able to co-ordinate a couple of body parts before lapsing back in alcoholic oblivion. At least they got a drip anyway – less spillage.

So, how have things been panning out, and what’s to come ?

1-3 December Tribey Christmas Party Weekend at Hartington Hall

4 December Company Christmas Party

7 December 12 Pubs of Christmas Pub Crawl

8 December 12 Hour Hairy Dog !!!

12 December Spamalot at the Pricess Theatre – with pre-drinks, during-drinks and post-drinks.

14 December IT Christmas Bash

17 December Brother’s Birthday Bash

18 December Old Boyz Christmas Drink-up

19 December Drinks with a chick !!!!

22 December Last drinking workday before Christmas

Managed to come away from all this with a remarkably low UDI count. A couple I definitely did identify were a smack on the nose from couple of kids who I think were attempting some sort of happy slapping episode, and a whack on the back of the head from a squashed up bag of chips that was ejected from a passing taxi as I meandered aimlessly around Victoria one night. Not too bad overall.

On the final leg now, so hopefully I’ll survive. If you haven’t heard from me by Jan 8th 2007 check the pickles counter at your local supermarket. I’ll probably be somewhere between the beetroot and the gherkins.