2002 Archives - wibbler.com
It was the kind of weather that you really needed a jacket for.
As I rolled up – on time, remarkably – for my Work Christmas Do, I clutched my hastily drawn up “awards” to the other employees, plus a comedy speech that I hoped to make slightly before the alcohol rendered my bodily functions completely dead. I entered Bar Med in Guildford, went up to the second floor, and into the VIP section. One out of the twenty five people turning up was there: Andria, the Senior Call Handler at my company. I donned two hats, looked like I was having fun, and waited.
20 minutes later, we were still waiting, Andria rueing the 8 pints she had consumed the night before, and regretting that the only conversation i could think of was about the windows, and how I would be opening them later to yell drunkenly at people. Still, no-one turned up.
10 minutes later, everyone turned up at once, and the party got into full swing. Free buffet and free wine only hinted of the carnage to come as we danced, ate and acted like fools. It was a thoroughly good night, one we had all been waiting for for months. Michelle and Nick turned up to give me moral support, bless them, and my speech went better them I ever expected, even allowing for the odd slurred word or two. Then, at 12.30am, we were ushered downstairs for the final half an hour before closing time.
It was then that it all went a little downhill. I was winding down at the bar, talking to Michelle and Nick about absolute rubbish (stringing sentences together is not an easy task at work events, I’ve noticed). Then, mid-sentence, I noticed a few shouts, and Andria’s boyfriend being picked up and carted out of the door by three heavily-built bouncers. 5 seconds later, my brain groggily realised this may be a bad thing, and I rushed (or rather staggered) out after them.
What greeted me was pure carnage. In one corner, one entire work department was heavily arguing with some poor police officers that had merely wondered down the road. In another, Andria’s boyfriend was demonstrating with the bouncers. In yet another, Kerry was shouting rather loudly at the manager of Bar Med, telling him she was never coming here again (a fact that I imagine he was rather glad about). Nick, Michelle and I surveyed the scene with drunken amazement. Two police vans had turned up. I feigned ignorance, and walked down the road, wondering where on earth Andria was. Why wasn’t she defending her boyfriend?
It turned out that she was defending her boyfriend. A tad forcefully, as it goes. Seconds before being arrested and thrown in a police van.
And so ended a night out on the town with work colleagues. As we shivered outside the police station, a long way from any warm bed, waiting for the police to give in and hand Andria back, a final sickening realisation set in.
I’d lost my jacket.
Andria, my erstwhile workmate, comes out with some corkers. Here’s today’s selection.
Andria: “Christ, Simon, you’re busy this morning, you’re like that bunny….”
Andria: “You know, that bunny that nevers stops. The Durex Bunny.”
Simon: “Ah. That famous one. You, of course, surely couldn’t have meant the Duracell Bunny, could you?”.
Well, I’ve finally recovered from an ill-conceived Wednesday outing to Cinderellas. Now, I feel like a change. I’d rather not get rid of my car or my girlfriend, so, oooh, I feel a wibbler.com redesign coming on…
My manager and I popped out at lunchtime yesterday on a mission – to transfer 5000 pounds in cash across Guildford High Street in broad daylight. I was to be the ‘heavy’ – escorting her all of 500 yards up the road to another bank (if any armed robbers are interested, we’ll be doing the same again at 1pm today…). It was a precision operation, and would have gone faultlessly had I not stumbled upon a large key lying in the middle of the street, evidently dropped by a hurrying shop girl. I picked it up – it had a tag with a person’s name on it, and a safe code. And the name of the shop – House of Fraser. My situation at this point: I was next to a woman holding 5000 pounds in an envelope, and was holding the safe key of the largest department store in Guildford. I could have solved all my financial debts in mere minutes. Sadly, I have a conscience (and no suitable weapons), so after safely depositing Rhonda at the cash desk, I wandered down to House of Fraser, and as I handed over the key to the manager, wondered which one of the poor, quivering temps behind her was about to recieve an early Christmas present from the recruitment office.
While all this was happening, Shunta was buying someone a very nice Christmas present. But, needless to say, I’m sworn to secrecy for the next 7 days…
As I went up on the A3 to our little jaunt last night (see below), I noticed on the other side of the road a smashed up car being towed away, with miles of traffic behind it. Nothing unusual in that, I thought: Probably a young driver racing down to meet his mates, or a driver caught in the rain that was pattering incessantly on my windscreen. I carried on my way, only mildly rubbernecking
Then, my eyes widening in sheer horror, I saw this in this morning’s Sun newspaper: Man found after 5 months. <pass the sickbag>
I spent all night last night in the glorious company of long lost school friends, in a kind of once-in-a-while-when-we-can-be-bothered Thursday Club. After I had eventually rocked up at Paul D’s house in the horribly-named Penge (“it sounds like an affliction” I surmised), we ventured off to Kings Road to meet the others, and to visit Henry J Beans for a nosh-up, a TGI Fridays style eaterie with seriously big portions. The tube was a joy as usual, with Paul noting the odd phrase the train driver kept blurting: “Please use all available doors to enter the train.” “But that’s impossible!” cried Paul, “we’d spend all night going up and down the carriage.” We spent the first ten minutes flitting from a small round table to a larger round table to a lovely red booth, as well-fed customers gradually decided to swop their slightly better tables for the bitter cold of the street outside. Jac decided to rock up an hour late (after, admittedly, I completely forgot to inform him we were already in town), and then rampant reminiscing was in order. We discovered that, sadly, Jac was the only single one amongst us. We discovered that in hindsight we were really rather cruel to some of our schoolfriends. We discovered that a few of our school buddies were in fact “with child”. We discovered that Ed Mundy had a rather effeminate jumper. We discovered that when Paul was stating, “she looks ok, she goes ok”, he was in fact talking about his new car and not, as I thought, about his delightful girlfriend (“but enough about Liz” I shouted, entirely mistakenly). And we discovered that, in fact, we really ought to meet up more often.
Thanks to Paul D, who despite minimal organisation managed to cobble us together. I shall look forward to another jaunt, definitely.
Two interesting emails today (out of 54 distinctly ordinary ones). The first begins “Dear Big Boy, Big Boy2 just visited Figleaves and asked us to mention to you that they loved the Basic thong. Just so you know, your preferred size is large…” And so it goes on. The sheer cheek. I have a suspect in mind – I shall have my revenge remarkably soon.
The other email points out something that a couple of others have commented on – that this anniversary photo I took innocently a few months unintentionally reveals a little too much of your adoring Wibbler in the mirror. As the emailer kindly put it, “the words ‘beached’ and ‘whale’ came immediately to mind”. Charming. Seeing as it was Michelle and my one year anniversary, you are all very lucky I even had my trousers on…
Call me cynical. But after days of controversy over the unsurprising but now proven allegation that the Labour government and it’s wife lying to the media and the general public (making a welcome change from them blaming the Conservatives for everything) they suddenly announce:
“Ooooh, how about a nice ?5.5billion transport deal to talk about instead?”