Mentalechoes

In a lot of ways I am relieved we are now on the other side of christmas! Finally it means a chance to really start relaxing (at least for one day before my new years eve friends fly in en masse). The last week before christmas was pretty much 12 hour days at work, which ended with christmas drinks down at a local shopping center spanish tapas bar (put on by my company in lieu of a christmas party) where I got absolutely shitfaced in front of my peers. Ahh it’s got to be done really! I’m glad though that I’ve got 3 weeks off now before having to go back and show my face to anyone again. I am not sure if I did anything wrong, or behaved badly, but it’s this not knowing that worries me a bit. See being an Australian I have a different yardstick by which I judge “bad behaviour” from that of the local Dutchies. Most of em are all a bit prim and proper in my view, not really prone to overt acts of spontaneity or drunken stupidity, which I’ve always seen as positive personality traits rather than flaws.

The drinks night started off harmlessly enough with an open bar and a room disconcertingly filled with a male majority (tech companies rarely have an equal number of men and women). Since my first beer marked the official start of my holidays I downed it in two gulps and promptly called for another as the second one meant I was on my own time and I no longer had to talk to anyone in an official capacity. As far as I can remember there was only one other person there actually taking the drinking seriously, so we quite naturally ended up in a drinking competition together. Fortunately the arrival of tapas saved me from an early grave, so I tucked into the plates of calamari and fried egg plant (the only two things I can remember eating) in a dignified feeding frenzy. Now unsurisingly, when you’re pissed as a bastard you do tend to revert back to the language of your native home, which for me is a peculiar Aussie dialect called ‘Brisbane-boy drunken yobbo’. Other Aussies understand it, but to dutch people it’s no more clear than high speed Klingon. I fancied my chances with two of the (rare) girls that were there, but when I swaggered up to each of them in turn and in my best charming bastard manner asked, “G’dday darlin, lurverly liddle swaree we’re ‘avin ere eh, so wad are you up to for chrissy”? I was met with exasperated glazed expressions much like you would see in rabbits that have been force fed strong hallucinogenic compounds and then made to stare at bright lights. I wasn’t getting through at all. Mind you, I wasn’t surprised either, this wasn’t a new thing for me. When the second girl actually turned around and said to me, “was that english”? I knew then there I was going home alone, so I proceeded to get really shitfaced. I have blurred memories of drunken discussions with a number of people, but none of the details seem to have stuck. I don’t remember the metro ride home, but I do remember coming to on the couch and seeing Batman Begins three quarters of the way through on DVD. Some of this has actually imprinted itself on my subconscious because now when I am out in the crowds in town, I sometimes get the urge to fire my grappling hook onto a roof top, grab a hot looking chick and pull myself to safety! (I hope this passess soon… or I get a genuine batman utility harness complete with grappling hook!) From here I poured myself into bed!

The next day - the day before christmas - I woke up to the feeling of some vicious prick applying a power drill to front of brain just above my left eye. I also had that bad nauseous feeling you get that make you wonder if you actually will be able to hold any liquids down (you don’t know until you try)! I moved myself from bed back to the couch (that great soother of all male hurts both physical, spiritual and emotional) and sipped on cold water and took small bites out of a bananna, being as how they are easy to throw up. It took me fully two movies to feel well enough to begin the real hangover treatment consisting of liberal doses of fruit juice and beef/cheese toasties done with ciabatta rolls. The left side of my brain must have been planning this big party in secret from the right side because I had all of these things stockpiled away in my fridge. By the time the evening came around I was functioning more or less normally and I had removed the offending drill from my temple. I was due to head out again, but decided against it. Christmas day was going to be another test of manhood in the eating and drinking department and I didn’t see the need to start it in a weakened condition.

I’m not a drinker really, so I never worry about these binge drinking episodes. The way I look at it, it’s good to go crazy once a year at your work do. Most of us work pretty hard for our employers who rarely show their appreciation in any tangible monetary way, so the drinks (slash) christmas party is one way we can get a bit of our own back; by drinking as much as we can on them. I’m only sorry that I work at a place with largely boring people. What I wouldn’t give for a good christmas party like we had when I was working for the Queensland public service back home. Now there was a swaree worth remembering (even though you mostly couldn’t); loads of alcohol, food, snogs, and tears from the girls; the odd marriage proposal; the odd threat to stay away from her; the odd boss hug; and lots of “I LOVE YOU MATE… NO, I LOVE YOU MATE… NO, I LOVE YOU MATE”! And the whole time this is being watched and enjoyed by the big bosses who are extremely happy that the staff are finishing off the year on a high note!

The good old days! :-))

Next up I’ll tell you about christmas day and never ending mini salmon quiche!

Padwanna!