The question of the office xmas lunch has surfaced like a ripe corpse. It’s a torturous affair wherever you go and those couple of hours over the dining table are always strained.

I’d rather eat my cheese sandwiches in the windswept corner of the car park than suffer another one of those affairs thinly spread with festive bon aimee and stilted conversation. I declined on the grounds that I can’t afford it and to hell with the consequences.

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