Yay! Finally packed it in for the next ten days or so. Whilst most of you no doubt got out the door at a fairly sensible time (12.30? 1pm?), I was tethered to my desk until three. Not that I'd done much all day anyway but it seemed especially pointless to keep us in until 3pm, give us a half hour lunch and ship in some Pizza (provide yer own fizzy pop, no alcohol....)
It seems we can't be trusted not to get totally fleein' on a few bottles of wine amongst the entire office. Bunch of twats.
Off to the pub after work. Well, pub isn't the word I'd use. It's one of those 'style bars' at the Charing Cross end of Sauchiehall St. Over priced fucking dives that they are.....
Theres something wrong with most of these pubs, I tell thee. All the flashy furniture and design can't hide the fact that they're just places for mouth breathing office scum, flashy neds and slow witted posers to go and get shit faced of an evening. I did suggest the cosy confines of The Bon Accord next door to the office for a few drinkies, but the young 'uns in the office wanted to go to Bar Buddha. The bastards............ I don't mind getting skinned for drink if I have some choice available to me, but I refuse to believe that a pint of Kronnenbourg, a pint of Joe Mangle's Fetid Piss* and a bottle of Budweiser can cost about nine quid. The staff were run off their arses (all three of them) and I've never felt the urge to tip at the bar as much as I did tonight.
So what's the alternative? The Ill Man's idea of festive cheer is going to an old man pub in which one can smell the piss from the toilets and where getting to the bar involves a set of crampons and the possible deployment of a search party..................
Sounds like heaven to me.................
* Joe Mangle's Fetid Piss=Fosters
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