(no subject)

I meant to wax lyrical about the Sagrada Familia today, but it's time for another mememememe weekend post.

So, Friday! That day was The Dreaded Christmas Party. I always, always end up drunk at Christmas parties and make a Bridget Jones-style show of myself in front of my colleagues, to the amusement of all except me. I was determined not to do that this year when the Extremely Important Mental Health Managers would all be there, and I achieved this by going to super-smart wine bar Prohibition with my friend Chris first off.

Half a bottle of white wine later, I smiled at him and said, "why don't you come along as well? I'm sure it will be all right."

Now, our Christmas party? It was supposed to be at La Tasca. Then it was Bella Pasta. Then a Portuguese place, but we'd left it too late and everywhere was full up. Hence, we went to...CAESAR'S PALACE. The name should tell you all you need to know. Tacky, Vegas-style lighting, horrible, cheap food... my prawns were horrible, my Mexican food combo just had lots of ribs on it... the best thing was the wine and Baileys.

At some point, the Adverse Incidents Adminstratror found out that Chris was the son of [insert name here], General Adverse Incidents Manager for all of the North-West.

A little while later, we've all done stupid things. Chris and I tried to teach French to one of the PAs, said PA and the Adverse Incidents lady tied Chris up in a chair, took a photo and pretended to kidnap him to wind up his dad, etc. Hey, at least we all made a show of ourselves, right? 'Twas a most worthy night.

*

In a separate incident, I had professed my love of dead narrators to fabulous wench saffronlie and she had told me of a Dead Narrator book, Rembrandt's Whore.

Over the weekend, I decided to try and get it, but could not for the life of me remember who wrote it. Hence, the following conversation in Waterstone's:

Becky: Oh, hey. Um... I'm after a book, but I can't remember who the author is.
Girl: That's okay! I'll look it up on our database. What's the title?
Becky: Um...er...Rembrandt's Whore.
Girl: *taptaptappitytap* Hmm... I can't see it. Rembrandt's Hall, right?
Becky: No...er...Rembrandt's Whore.
Girl: ?
Becky: Whore. W-H-O-R-E.
Girl: Oh. Okay. *Totally thinking it's a porn book*
Old lady behind: Hmm.
Girl: Sorry, we don't have it in.
Becky: That's okay. *runs*

Told saffronlie about that on YM later on. "Oh," she said, "it's a rubbish book, anyway."

KEEEEEEEEEEEEL!

And they were some of the less surreal moments of the weekend. Oh, goody.