Off the wagon...

...and straight into the lard. I think I've pretty much confirmed my own suspicions that mid-week drinkies lead to morning-after pig outs and, MAN, have I pigged out!

But back to last night. I've also come to the realisation that post-work nights out are a completely different ball game now I'm a director. I joined my company as an office junior seven years ago and for the most part, nights out have been pretty much carefree, if not a little messy. Since I recruited office juniors of my own, however, something's changed. I shouldn't be surprised I suppose, but the funny thing is that although I've been constantly moving up the ladder, the change has only happened in the last month or so.  

This is the pattern that's happened the last few times:

First couple of drinks: everyone's relatively sober, chatty, inoffensive and it's a nice social affair without hierarchy. The main topic is those general work gripes that everyone joins in with. Feels like we're all in it together etc etc. Nothing's changed here, it's always been like this. So far, so good.

Three or four drinks: people start filtering off (mainly the drivers and mums) leaving the people who live in town to carry on the party. People start revealing what they really think of each other (usually about those who've left). The usual work gripes turn into individual work issues and worries about certain projects, careers or working relationships with bosses or clients. Again, this is entirely usual for a night out, but now the dynamic has changed. Instead of it being a chat, it's now a review - I've had four large glasses of Pinot and they actually want proper grown up advice rather than the usual sincere and drunken assertions that they're bloody brilliant, anyone would be lucky to have them and they should just tell any haters to screw themselves. And the ridiculous rumours start to surface, the ones you can't believe anyone fell for let alone got upset about, such as 'Jackie told everyone you said she was your favourite'. I mean COME. ON!

After quite a few drinks: Picture the scene - my junior is loudly introducing me to all her friends as her boss (that still weirds me out. One mention of being a boss in a social setting and I start to feel like a complete corporate dork) and keeps butting in to conversation to say that really likes me and to tell me which individual instances of my management she's particularly liked so far. All very nice, but all rather awkward. Another colleague is slowly getting off her face and keeps stroking my arm in order to get my attention every time someone else speaks to me. She suddenly bursts into tears and keeps saying she's terrible at her job, the MD hates her, she's ugly and disgusting, and I need to help her. All this forces me to be rationale and supportive, again not in the drunken you're-bloody-brilliant-you-are kind of a way, but in a more constructive let's-look-at-x-client-together-tomorrow and see how we can improve things together kind of a way.

The evening ended with the junior earnestly asking me if it was ok for her to go off and have sex with a guy (yes, she actually phrased it 'is it OK to for me to have sex') and the cryer getting so battered she could barely talk (small mercies), literally ricocheting from wall to wall when she attempted to walk. I had to wrestle her phone off her to get her fella to come and pick her up, but not before pretty much carrying her through the bar to the unsupportive jeers of other drinkers.

She tells me that when she reached home she stumbled out of the car and fell into a bush. She's got scratches all down her side.

And do you know what the kicker is? Not so long ago, those two examples of hideous, embarrassing drunken behaviour would have been me all over. Only a couple of years ago I fractured my ankle falling off a stage where I was dancing at an awards do. Not my best moment, admittedly, and I would be mortified if I'd behaved the way my colleagues did last night, but being the designated adult every time is simply no fun. I'm actually a little envious that they came into work this morning completely shame-free and nursing god awful hangovers.

And this brings me to my own post-drinks shame - although I felt sober by the time I got home, I still got the morning-after munchies: toast and a chocolate bar for breakfast, a chicken slice, prawn salad and chocolate cornflake square for lunch and, randomly, a sausage roll, two mini pork pies, a packet of Wotsits and a Twirl just sitting in my bag because in my wide-eyed scavenge for food I honestly thought I could eat all those other things too!

I feel sick from the crap I've eaten and guilty for not having the willpower to make more sensible choices. I need to get a grip and get back on track before this runs into a habit. In fact, can I get a do-over? Hold the wine this time... 



 

Off sick and feeling guilty

What is it about being off work sick that makes you feel so guilty?

It's a situation where you just can't win. I had a bout of bronchitis last year, and whilst I don't think bronchitis itself is contagious (it's a bacterial infection rather than a virus), when I dragged myself in to the office to take care of some urgent work a colleague actually wheeled away from her desk and brought her scarf up over her nose before I could even sit down. I was so ashamed, I grabbed the files I needed and went straight home feeling like the Elephant Man.

On the other hand, I felt awfully guilty calling in sick today - but why? I'm certainly in no fit state to go in today, and even if I did I'd just be passing round my virus. Yet, even though I'm genuinely ill, I feel the need to explain myself; perhaps provide some of the gory details about my symptoms or send a photo showing just how pale and crappy I look. And I couldn't even bring myself to sign off my round robin email without saying I'll be checking my emails if anything urgent comes in! Why?! Likelihood is I won't be able to do much from here and I'll have to delegate it to someone else anyway. It's madness.

In other news, I'm on day 3 of 'not being able to eat anything'. I tried some Complan yesterday, and although I kept most of it down I was up all night with the most horrendous gurgling innards. I mean, have you EVER been kept awake by what sounds like a leopard fight going on in a violent thunderstorm inside you?! It was so loud it woke the husband up several times. Freaky is an understatement.

Time to bite your lip

I'm pretty laid back generally, but it's just not cool when someone rubs something in your face. Or makes stupid comments that are pointless and just plain mean.

Take this woman in my team at work, for example. Embarrassingly, I had a plaster cast on my leg for the work Christmas do last year. I wore a maxi dress and took just the one crutch to hobble about on. Work woman comes up to me and says: "You know, you're really carrying that off. You look like you've got MS."

Not sure how to react to that really.

And after my wedding (she was invited, along with other colleagues, for the evening do) I was so proud that people were commenting on how radiant I looked on the day. I'm under no illusion that my fabulous hair and make-up lady, plus the excitement of the day, were both key to generating those incredibly kind comments; the make-up lady was a proper miracle worker! But isn't it a bit unnecessary for work woman to say: "Yes, you looked lovely. And I said to Lee, I said 'What an AMAZING transformation!!'" Erm, back handed much?

So really, I shouldn't have been surprised when she was flouncing around the office going on about meeting a famous designer today for one client and going to Monaco in a few weeks for another, knowing full well that none of my clients are likely to present that opportunity.

Fair enough, it's all very exciting and in her place I would have been bouncing around too, but I really had to bite my lip when she said, in all seriousness: "And you know, how on earth do you mentally prepare yourself when you're going to Monaco and hanging out with famous designers one week, and then having to come back to doing plain old bird food the next. I mean, it just messes with your mind..."

Yes, of course it does love. Poor you. It must be awful having to spend a week in Monaco on expenses, and then have to come back to work with the rest of us plebs. Please feel free to fuck the fuck off and stay there.

Yours, with hugs, Bea x