It's true.
Last night was our company Christmas party. Apparently the parties before I got to London were legendary: booked out clubs, red carpet dressing up, the whole shebang. But unfortunately I moved here in 2008 right before the market crash and so ever since we've been having pub lock-ins in our company's local. Which is some ways much better - and much much worse.
Yesterday I made a major schoolgirl error and missed lunch due to back-to-back meetings, which meant I started drinking at 4. Sometime in the evening it started snowing making me love the party more, and I apparently stumbled into the darkness around 12:30am. I don't remember it but I did get in a cab and it only cost £7!
The Irishman tells me that I came home and tried to sleep in my coat and also sang him a few songs about how our flat smells like cabbage (it's true, we cooked brussel sprouts the other night and the smell won't leave). This morning I found my clothes all over, my bag in the middle of the hallway, and my shoes under a table.
Luckily our entire office is in a similar state so our lovely office catering manager is ordering in bacon and sausage sarnies for us all. I'm trying to take it easy but I have actual work to do and I also have to subject myself to the Post Office to get stamps for my Christmas card.
Ow.
