02 December, 2009


The amateur drinking season

Last Friday I foolishly ventured into London. Having concluded my metropolitan business towards late afternoon, I entered into an hostelry in search of refreshment. Whereupon I was forcefully reminded that this is the Season of the Amateur Drinker.

Christmas brings many things, some of them welcome, some of them less so. Among the latter is the institution of the office Christmas drink.

Largeish, leaderless groups of people who either do not know each other or are taking part in an unfamiliar activity will usually behave like a flock of sheep which has just contrived to elude the ken of the shepherd and his dog and now suddenly realize they have no idea what to do with their new-found freedom. Add to this the once-a-year drinkers dithering over adventurous orders for small measures of drinks that were last on sale in 1973, and you have a recipe for choss and confusion not dissimilar to the Blackwall and Rotherhithe tunnels and the Woolwich Ferry all closing at the same time.

Roll on the close season, when only us hardened professionals venture out for a convivial bevvy.

Bah Humbug!

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