|[Blog] If You Don't Know Me By Now - Betting Tips for the Morning After|
Written by SE1blue on Thursday, 15th Dec 2011 17:54
This week was the staff Christmas party at the primary school where I work. My invite told me it was going to be held in a south London pub, that the dress code was ‘elegance’, and that I had to bring a dish for the buffet. Employed in a school where the majority of staff are women aged in their mid-twenties, I imagined I was in for a night of sex, drugs and sausage rolls.
Elegance can mean many different things to different people. If you were born in Braintree, like me, elegance means ironing your clothes. But I’ve got more class than that, so I dug out a jumper that was at least fifty percent cotton and the squeaky brown shoes I normally reserve for weddings and funerals.
Whilst I got ready, my girlfriend made a Greek salad that was large enough to feed the entire school (pupils included) and put it in a plastic container before warning me “It leaks if you don’t carry it carefully”. When I left, I wrapped my arms around the huge tub and cradled it like a baby.
Down inside the Underground it was rush hour. The Tube was packed and the temperature inside the carriage was somewhere close to Hell. Desperate not to spill any of the salad on my best Debenhams v-neck, I had wrapped it in a carrier bag and was nervously holding it at arms-length. Despite all the jostling I tried to keep it as still and level as possible.
Normally, nobody will give you space on the Underground, but if you take a large suspicious package onto a Tube train and hold it like it could explode at any moment then you usually find people more obliging. I took my seat and tried to look shifty.
Twenty minutes later, my Salad of Mass Destruction and I arrived at the bar in south London where I found only a handful of my colleagues. Once rid of coat and salad, I ordered myself a pint and looked around to see where I’d go and make conversation first.
It was at this point I wished I had spent fewer lunch breaks on the TWTD forum and skipping off to William Hill, and more time getting to know my work buddies. I have only been at the school as a teaching assistant for the last three months, but I was now regretting that I hadn’t made more effort to get to know some of the names outside of my classroom in the last 90 days.
I recognised everyone's faces, and had a rough idea in which classes they taught, just from listening to them chat in the staff room. But other than that, I only had the nicknames I had allocated each of them, when describing them to my mates down at the pub.
Whilst my replacement monikers might have caused some lively party conversation, I reasoned that they probably wouldn’t see me invited back at the school in the New Year. So, I filled a paper plate with food and headed over to No Neck, Huge Boobs and Cake Girl to make small talk and find out their real names.
Being a bit of a social retard I had spent my train journey thinking of potential conversation pieces and had come up with just two efforts. Question 1 was “What are you doing for Christmas?” and Question 2 was “What did you make for the buffet?”.
“Hi guys!” I said.
No Neck (who I recognised as the gym teacher) proceeded to tell us all, in great detail, about how he will be spending his holiday climbing the three highest peaks in Britain and won’t be stopped from completing his mission “whatever the weather”.
Apparently, he’s going to be living on nothing but roasted squirrels and wiping his bum on hedge leaves. OK, that bit isn’t true, but to be honest I had switched off from his outdoor adventure as I had become distracted by Huge Boobs' novelty mistletoe necklace.
Cake Girl seemed impressed by No Neck, but then again, her enthusiastic head-nodding might have been an essential mechanism applied to keep the buffet food pumping down her neck.
Once No Neck had finished telling us how to start fire with a clothes peg and an empty crisp packet, I asked the same question to Huge Boobs.
“I’m going to get myself a tattoo over Christmas.”
Whilst No Neck went and got Cake Girl some water to lubricate her food chute, Huge Boobs revealed to me that she already had five tattoos on her body. She added that none of them are visible even when she wears a bikini. This news got me a little dizzy, so I tried to settle myself by sinking the rest of my pint and then two double vodkas.
Cake Girl’s Christmas plans came as little surprise: “I’m off to M&M World and then I’m going to Cadbury World!” she beamed between slices of cake.
In the time it took her to tell us every M&M flavour, then every Cadbury chocolate bar, I had downed another pint, two tequilas and a port. I didn’t know my colleagues' names but with every sip they were becoming increasingly interesting (even No Neck) and we were beginning to have a laugh and a giggle. I was enjoying myself and I still had Question 2 tucked up my sleeve.
All the talk of food had built-up my appetite so I went over and grabbed a few bits from the buffet. I returned to my new chums with the hope I might get to know their names before the end of the night.
No Neck was demonstrating erecting a tent with the use of a nativity napkin and some cocktail sticks, so I took the opportunity to take a large bite of quiche.
“Urrrrrgh! What’s this? It tastes like a cat’s been sick in my mouth!” I interrupted No Neck and spat the food back onto my plate, before mimicking throwing-up all over my shoes.
Cake Girl ran off to the ladies toilets in tears, so I figured I had her answer to Question 2. Huge Boobs followed behind her (after she had shaken her head at me in a way that I guessed she probably used regularly on Year Ones) and I was left with No Neck giving me evils.
“Sorry, but that tastes like crap. Her husband has probably died from anorexia, if he’s got any sense.” I laughed.
“No, he hasn’t. I enjoy everything she makes me.” He replied, before filling my mouth with one of his fists.
Finally, I would like to stress, before anyone emails Phil, that this blog does not promote listening to Simply Red. The author has a huge dislike of Mick Hucknall, and only used the title of a Simply Red single for the blog because he couldn’t think of anything better. If you can, please leave a suggestion below, which will enter you into a Christmas raffle for the chance of winning a tuna quiche and a blood-soaked Debenhams jumper. Here are this week’s predictions.
Portsmouth v Southampton
Bristol City v Nottingham Forest
Correct Score Prediction
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