New year, no cheer
Trying to shuffle silently into the staffroom, we're cornered by Steve from PE, who everyone knows spent New Year's Eve in Brazil with his beautiful new girlfriend, sambaing on golden sands and sipping exotic cocktails out of a coconut.
"So," he begins smugly, leaning a perfectly-tanned arm against a perfectly-toned hip. "What did you girls get up to for New Year?"
I glance at Annette sheepishly.
"Well basically we decided that New Year is too commercialised these days," I stutter.
"Yeah," chips in Annette. "It's about pound;50 to get into some sticky rathole of a club, then pound;5 per drink and we just thought, y'know, we don't need this ..."
"Plus," I join in. "In the old days, New Year's Eve was never the pukey bingefest it is today."
"Yeah, it's disgusting how some of the kids behave down the high street," exclaims Annette. "Blokes grabbing girls on the bum, girls urinating in full view of anyone who happens to be passing."
"It's hardly dignified is it?" I add, picturing about three occasions on which Annette has done at least one of the above.
"So what we decided on was something more traditional."
Steve takes a long sip from a mug that's plastered with the words, "Rio de Janeiro 2008!" and a picture of a lithe reveller in Samba gear grinning ecstatically.
"Sounds fascinating," he croons. "And what did you opt for?"
"Well we decided to have a quiet one," I mutter.
"Yeah we're too old for all that clubbing nonsense," concurs Annette.
"Jumping around on a beach in Rio de Janeiro, I mean I'm sure that's fine for some people, but it's a bit, well, obvious ..."
Steve smirks. "You stayed in and watched Jools Holland's Hootenanny didn't you?"
"No comment," I say, and shuffle off to make some tea.
Love Kate x.