Through The Wardrobe

I slithered into work listening to Marilyn, on a combination of bus and foot; even I think it’s a bit cold at the moment and too icy to cycle.

I may have got home ok on the bike last night but a colleague went down as he took a shortcut across one of the car lots here. Problem was they’d been washing cars and had unintentionally built an outdoor skating rink. He’s smashed his helmet, so it was a good job he was wearing it.

L’s sister sends us photos of a snowy Hertfordshire; a customer sends us photos of an even snowier Kent. They’ve had a lot more than we have. I feel outdone. There’s black clouds overhead right now. Fingers crossed.

Christmas is not just the time of year when families get together for the annual gathering of related DNA but it’s also when companies get all their staff together in one room, attempt to get them drunk, embarrass them and feed them overcooked turkey. This is the other reason I’m on the bus today.

Ours has an added twist this year, Mr Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver and a lion called Aslan. Well, maybe. They’ve rather tackily called our ‘do’ ‘Winter Wonderland in Narnia’, which is immensely worrying and sounds like something you’d take your six year old to.

L insists I take my camera just in case Mr Tumnus shows up. Although I’m sure she’s naively hoping for James McAvoy.

It’s not worth me going home before the evening entertainment starts, so I pop into the pub for one, just to line my stomach. However, the Brunswick is that rammed I can’t get in the door and I end up next door in the Alexandra.

Then it’s in through the wardrobe and into Narnia. Yes they do actually have a fake wardrobe. Once inside we get offered mulled wine and Turkish delight, which I refuse, because isn’t this what turns you to stone. No sign of Mr and Mrs Beaver or Mr Tumnus for that matter. There is a singer all dressed in white who may consider herself to be the White Witch. Shame she’s more karaoke than competent artiste. Not good. Everything else is the usual fare, food ok but nothing special and the wine cheap and unspectacular. They are taking photos of the whole event, displaying them on a big screen and putting them on Facebook for download later. This causes amusement on our table, after management recently banned that popular time wasting activity.

L, who’s back from a trip to the pantomime, tells me we’re again up to the rafters with teenagers. Not sure how that happened.

Afterwards on the bus, I get the one Red Arrow driver who doesn’t automatically stop at my stop. I close my eyes momentarily and we whizz by. I’m not the only one, another chap is soon at the front of the bus remonstrating with the driver and demanding to be let off. He is told he has to now go all the way to the city centre now. We both have to walk back.

Surprisingly not too heavy an alcohol night, that is until L and I get the ill advised port out.