So it is Christmas...

…and what have we here? Why, it’s the traditional annual Christmas party! This year’s venue of choice is the Wellington Park Hotel, lovely referred to as the ‘Welly’ and probably the only choice to go once you’ve reached thirty to get drunk and merrily make a tit of yourself in Belfast. Here, the vultures of BBC Information gathered to eat, drink, dance and discover the winners of our Capita Oscars, awards of dubious merit for varying reasons.

Having been unsuccessful in my attempt to gain promotion a few weeks ago to the position of Team Manager, I came third in ‘Management Lick of the Year’ award. My direct attempt to this was to shout half-drunkenly, half-scornfully, from my table, “WELL, FECKIN’ PROMOTE ME THEN!” Cheers of support unfortunately were not forthcoming. Fix!

But I did secure, for the third year running I may add, ‘Fashion Victim of the Year’. This is quite open to interpretation; some people might imagine it to refer to “best dressed”, others maybe to “worst dressed”. I am either doing something right in my sartorial choices, or something very, very wrong…

And yes readers, I have a terrible confession. Everything does something embarrassing at the Christmas Party. And woe, I wasn’t even really drunk. Yet it was shameful, degrading, and I did it in front of everyone. I blame Peter Kay. The Amarillo song came on, and for one brief, but horrible moment on the dance…. I led… a congo line! There, I’ve said it. Let it rest and be forgotten about in the drunken haze and blur that envelopes most people over the festive season.


Merry Christmas all, God bless, Colin.
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