The office Christmas do as it is, provides ample opportunity to knock back expensive Italian beer at the bosses expense. Surrounded by as I am here by shops selling expensive watches and expensive food and jewellery, I am relieved to find that spending a penny here does not cost more than Toilets around the world pay me in a month.
To get to the little (city) boys room, I must navigate a narrow marble staircase, not always easy on a belly full of ale. However, this is somewhat easier in Doc Martens than if you are wearing stilettos like the expensively dressed lady navigating the staircase in front of me. Inside, I find a clean well lit facility with marble partitions between urinals and nice but not amazing soap. In the lair of the stockbroker, I am somewhat disappointed that I am not offered cocaine or a wank. Then again, it’s rare to get offered either in a public convenience when you are a 40 year old man who wears a Seiko and has only £20 in his wallet.
Leaving neither impressed or otherwise, I catch my train home narrowly avoiding slipping in the vomit of a city worker who could not handle their liquor. No worse an ending to a work christmas party than usual.
As reviewed by Loo Reed.