Bloated

Not really much to report on the party front. It passed pretty much without incident really.

My Secret Santa gift was fairly awful - a jangly bracelet thing - not at all my sort of thing and its already shedding beads, but of course I had to say how lovely it was for fear of offending the unknown buyer. I'm always really disappointed by Secret Santas though - I don't know why I always expect something great or at least funny, but I nearly always just get some generic woman's gift.

Anyway, the meal was fine, although I've come to the conclusion that I just can not eat a three course meal without feeling ill. Rather pathetic I know.

So tired and bloated, but rather smug at being sober and sensible, I left before 11. I had to wait three tubes for the right one, which wasn't too long, but then half way home they decided to redirect it so we all had to get off and wait another 15 minutes for one going that way. So in the end it was 6 trains before the right one, which is pretty poor service.

And for the final leg of the journey, I was stuck in a carriage that had the faint odour of vomit and a Spanish man, chatting up a Swedish girl by telling her how great Abba were, quoting statistics about their record sales, saying they were better than the Beatles and singing Fernando in Spanish. I couldn't get out of there quick enough.

I don't like Abba. Another unpopular opinion I know and its not really that much to do with them. I was once stuck on a minibus for five hours with a drunken ex-rugby player from Yorkshire who sang along to the Abba CD for the full length of the journey. Somehow everyone else managed to sleep through it, except me and I haven't been able to stomach Abba since without flashbacks. This was a work outing with my previous company (a day trip to Calais!) which was rather different from last night's do.