A quick look out the window gave us all the impression that it was too cold to go down to Almondvale and even pretend that our minds were on the job. There were more important things to worry about!
Had Dov remembered to get us on the VIP list?
Had Dov remembered our pay checks?
Is this the year when Dov finally steps out from his closet? (Out out out out!!!!)
A quick taxi ride and we were there. The drinks were flowing and the ladies were dancing. "2 for a tenner!" was the cry and we certainly filled our boots!
After a 10 minutes breather for a Subway sannie, it was back to the party where by now a crowd of clearly inebriated office workers were causing bother. A big lass called Janice from accounts was attempting to remove a temps eyes for claiming that she (Janice) was rubbish at changing the toner in the photo copier, or something. Someone must have called the scuppers as after a few minutes of scuffling and name calling, Janice, the temp, and the rest of the stamp lickers were carted away by a couple of burly boys in blue.
In an effort to liven things up a little, Dov suggested that we all head back to Tabloid HQ to open the pressies had for us all. Nice one we thought.
Talk about a slap in the coupon!
One or two party-goers were for stringing our diminutive editor from a bridge over the M8, but an altogether more cunning plan was hatched by Sally from the reprographics dept.
A few more bottles of Charlemagne were popped and everyone made sure that Dov's glass was always brimming.
Wine, beer, lager, vodka, whisky, stout, turps, you name it, he drank it.
As he is well known as a bit of a light touch when it comes to the old drinking game, it wasn't long before he was spark out. Maracas. Nuggets. Three sheets to the wind. Call it what you like. Call Dov what you like. We do, and boy did we!
We leave you with yet another Daily Tabloid exclusive pic'. Ho Ho Ho!