The Christmas Lunch

It's hard to write about a Christmas party in specific. No individual Christmas party has all the characteristics of the essence extracted from every party ever, mushed up together and distilled. And of course an afternoon Christmas lunch for a Mathematics department is rather sedate in contrast to some of the extreme things you encounter in television, film and prose. There were not fistfights, foodfights, or vendettas leading to champagne cork wars. No, by anything other than normal standards it was quite dull!

However, if we condense the world down to the standards of what really goes on aboard this fair planet and between the folks you meet from day to day, it was a rather pleasant proceeding. The food was broadly edible, especially for people who actually like roast dinners, and the dessert didn't disappoint. People are strange, though, all with different levels of island-qualities. I'll never get people entirely. And I can't write about the people without breaking the Rule of Names or the Protocol of Description, either, blast it!

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We begin
The apprehension was clear. Some people anticipated the event and the probable enjoyment to follow. Others worried about their role in the dangerous trials to come. Knives were sharpened in critical places. Dresses were smoothed down deliberately. People banded together to meet their fates, and set times to meet.

"Bing bong, the time has come, go forth in song, it's no time for glum."

Four floors of people emerged from their offices blearily, pulled on their coats and trudged or scooted to the stairs or lifts. Someone went a little frantically from door to door looking for unspecified personages. The first few people to be ready got bored and wafted up and down the stairs, surveying matters as they stood. Someone else looked totally unconcerned as lunch was something he had already done. That person was a little too smug.

As the tribes headed off to their destination, a few were left behind, unwilling to take the risk of that most social of occasions. A few others were lost, but in the spirit of great adversity were left behind presumably to never be seen again. This wasn't fair play and a swift adventure but a Christmas lunch, blast it! Safety could not be guaranteed! The band of celebrants sloped up the hill and settled into the staff club, deliberately doing their best to secure happy table-mates and trying to avoid trips to the bar.

Wolves howled outside, scenting turkey and beer.

The meal passes happily with no major problems and a mercifully short speech. Strange brown meat is identified and classified with the turkey, before being eaten or discarded according to the bravery of the respective diner. Profiteroles are sadly not flung across the room in a prelude to a full on food fight, and the pavlova is sadly insufficiently messy for that purpose. On the other hand no awkward mistletoe incidents are forced by the existence of that evil weed and toasts are averted. Isolated diners are made into part of the whole and inter-discipline rivalries mitigated by determined ignorance, avoidance and a lot of reclusiveness. Politeness is pushed to the limit as the long minutes pass before everyone is in a position to begin eating in unison.

There is no chocolate cake.

As the end approaches, and another Christmas dinner passes by without undue incident people relax and begin to wonder what is next. Some forget about the football that had dominated their minds and other fret about the duties that follow in the morning. A few wish the meal had been in the evening and that there had been much more beer. Those few stay a while longer and fulfil their dreams. One thing is true for all, though, and that is that something has been gained in the sharing. Let's hope it isn't just fat and a tendency to dribble.

We carry on




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O.