By Catherine Portland -


As the nights get longer and the sounds of Slade and Cliff Richards bellow from shops across the country, it is certain that Christmas is approaching. And when the poster goes up in the staff room saying the hotel has been booked for the office Christmas party, my festive mood goes out the window and I start to make excuses.

There is something odd about the Christmas party. Just because of Yuletide, you start having to talk to people you normally would not dream of sharing the same oxygen with, and sit down for a meal and be social, but not too social as it is a work do – as the emails sent two hours before we leave tell us.

My bitterness comes as I usually try to deal with the festive work-sanctioned bonhomie by drinking too much. Thus creating the worst two conditions to find a man: work and booze.

Generally I do well at the actual party and I am able to force myself to make polite conversation over the dry turkey and cheap wine. However, the point when I decide to sup on a brandy at the company's expense that things go awry.

The first danger is I start to get flirtatious. Despite alcohol reducing my commonsense I know that the directors are not to be flirted with. I'm not ageist, I'm just scared of embarrassing them.

That's my first tip – let the Christmas joy stop with the top brass. My friend Katie ended up being a little too friendly with the owner of the PR agency where she worked. In her defence, he was good-looking enough for us not to laugh at her on the granddad factor. Although nothing major happened, going back to work she found there was an awkward silence whenever they were in the same room, which made things difficult when she went for an internal promotion.

My next tip is: think twice before going on to a club.

"The night is young," you may her people cry, but crawling into work the next day with a hangover the size of Manchester and two hours' sleep will make you feel and look about 90 years old. Not just a bad hair day, but a bad face, body and brain day is guaranteed.

And if you are looking for a guy, the post-bash club is a lose-lose situation. I've pulled with the smart dress making me feel like sex-goddess for the night, but the quality of men on offer – those willing to head out after the official festivities – is low and the embarrassment factor is high.

A couple of years ago, I pulled some bloke in sales who seemed ok, but the next day he found it necessary to conspicuously give me my knickers back in front of my co-workers.

But when will I learn? Last year I headed out to some pub with a late licence with those willing to celebrate Christmas too thoroughly and ended up with one of the boys I managed coming on to me and then almost being sick in my lap. Classy!

This year with the company heading to a hotel in Covent Garden to joyously celebrate the first Noel, when the angels call me to drink too much, I will say no. When the festive spirit demands that I head to a club, I will decline. I promise… perhaps.