What a weekend of festivities! I am a four-day week's biggest fan, and this last one did not disappoint. If anyone was unsure of this before, there is not much you can do to improve on a Friday spent on a yacht off Clifton sipping champagne, eating sushi and luring criminally hot lifeguards onto the boat with promises of lindt chocolate. I bonded with my colleagues, I got my summer tan back, I partook in the current marketing world's obsession of Gen Y video content creation. My only regret was that the mild sunstroke and not-so-mild drunkenness obliterated any chances of a second wind and I missed the Long Street World Cup Draw party on Friday night. Though I could hear the vuvuzelas from my bed all the way over on Roeland Street, and lifted my head from my pillow and smiled in solidarity with my fellow countrymen.
And Saturday may have marked the final transition into adulthood. Our very own Christmas party (which my friend informs me is a discriminatory term, so we delighted in bellowing 'happy year end function' to each other instead) without parents and family. Kelly and Stace cooked up such a feast of gammons and roast chicken and all the good things that go with them. And the sixteen of us sat in one long table in the garden with delicious food, great music and wonderful friends all around. It was such a warming experience that I completely understand why holiday paraphernalia always has such vomit-inducing, cheesy messages in it: parties like that really do remind you how all you need in life is to have friends that you love.
So thank you team for an amazing year.
