Saturday, 15 December 2007

Something crept into my mouth and died there

Last night we had our Christmas party, at Metropole, the Southern FM disco. It started bad and got worse before we all got drunk enough not to notice and started having fun.

The venue was a massive room filled with round table, most of them with wine bottles on but not ours, our beloved employer had decided the food and venue was enough of a treat for us so vino we had to buy ourselves. This would ahve been ok if 1) the plonk they sold for £15 a bottle hadnt been from Tescos bargain bucket section and 2) if the serving staff had been at least somewhat competet. As it was I ordered the first two bottles, waiting 10 min at the bar for the 8 staff to deal with the 6 customers. Later Mikey went up and ordered more, tried using his card (they had a machine) only to discover the slightly less than clever staff hadn't plugged it in, so they ran off with his card somewhere else. He did get it back.

The starter took about 45 minute to come out, in drips and drabs, the main took about the same and it became obvious there was no plan or structure to the service, two out of 10 on our table got food quite promptly but the remaining 8 were left waiting for an extra 15 minutes. Maybe a ploy to make sure someone on each table had food so we all kept the hope up?

Food was not good, but luckily by now our tastebuds had been killed off by the cheap plonk.

Finally dancing started and we boogied til 1 when we got kicked out.

Oh and there was a photographer there who took group photos you could then buy for £10 (with part of the fee going to charity, I reccon about 5p). This was quite amusing when you saw the girls in too short skirts and too high heels posing and poting. Especially the girl who decided to kick her leg up showing us all her nice underwear and everything else a g string doesnt cover.

1 comment:

Barb said...

If I close my eyes, and make it slightly more x-rated, it could almost be a Bond do. Well done on surviving it. Maybe someone might actually stand up to the boss next year and say southerm FM = cheapo tacky evening?