With the festive season nearly upon us, I thought i’d share a blog I write a couple of years ago relating to what some call the ‘silly season’…
“Last night I worked behind the bar for my Student Union because they were hosting a party for the local Council. Upon arriving there I was greeted with masses of food, ranging from prawn skewers to mince pies and chewy out-of-date crisps. Considering the amount there was I thought hundreds of people would turn up, drunkenly scratching eachothers’ hands in an attempt to greedily claw the biggest helping they could. If this had been even a little bit true then I could have slightly understood the evident use of council tax to fund this Christmas party. But no, much like anything to do with the Government it was a massive waste.
It is genuinely reassuring to know that, in the current economic climate where cuts have to be made to important services like the Police or the NHS because Cameron and his bitch say it is fundamental to helping the Country get back on its feet, taxpayer’s money is being allocated to a bunch of sad and lonely 50-odd year olds so they can relive their youth. Apart from the fact that this Christmas party was being held in a University Student Union being cringeworthy enough, it was clear to see that this night was the highlight of their year. This leads me to wonder what these people do with the other 364 days, apart from the obvious answer of spot trains and recite lines from Star Trek.
I honestly thought I was going to die of embarrassment when one grey-haired middle-aged woman staggered up to the bar ‘singing’ “..sex in the air and I love the smell of it”. Never has Rihanna sounded so wrong. I could vaguely ignore all of this, after all it is their Christmas party and this woman was clearly just enjoying herself regardless of the fact that her dignity was clearly a concept of the past. What REALLY baffled me thought was the drunken pervy men. If I worked in Wetherspoons, then I would understand; you’re lucky if you spot a man with a full set of teeth in there. However it is a University bar and you’d think that these adults would have a bit more respect than drunken students. Oh, how wrong I was. The amount of times I heard “what’re you doing later darlin’? Wanna come to my after party?” was unbelievable. I am 21, what on earth would possess me to leave the safety of my flat and go home with a disgustingly drunk man? Upon hearing my answer of “going home to my beautiful girlfriend” these men felt their ego deflate and so attempted to rectify this by harassing me all night. If that had been my Dad I would have disowned him. But lucky for me, my Dad doesn’t attend work parties that involve living out your mid-life crisis by slurring vile “chat up lines” at young women. It just makes me wonder what their children turned out like if they have these men for role models, with the clear answer being “the Jeremy Kyle generation”. Seriously, I bet I see some of these people on the show, partaking in DNA tests only to find out that their girlfriend has in fact had sex with the whole street, including their brother and sister.
So now we know what Council Tax gets wasted on, let’s not repeat the same mistake of voting back in Cameron and his weedy lapdog. Funding an embarrassment of a party, in which people lose their dignity and plant the seed for future Jeremy Kyle appearances, should not feature in any political party’s manifesto. Nor should it be absent from the said manifesto and then implemented when power goes to a closeted gay couple’s head. I know it’s the festive period and I should get in the Christmas spirit but if harbouring ill-feeling towards a group of sad and lonely old money-wasters makes me a Scrooge, then Bah Humbug!”