better places

One day, in the mythical future where light and portable thought-decoding devices exist , the thoughts roaming the minds of drunk people might be extracted and studied in order to attempt to help to explain their activities, behaviours and decisions to others, possibly with the aid of the thinker of the thoughts (in a sober state) in providing insight into the possible rationalisation and justification processes taking place at the time of the thought-recording. In particular I wonder at the extent to which people end up acting in specific ways because they are the behaviours they feel to be appropriate to that particular situation/company/occasion rather than just being the most natural way for them to behave at that time when in that state. In particular, how often do people drink in order to help justify behaviours and activities adopted prior to being sufficiently drunk to be unable (or at least apparently unable) to resist acting in that particular way? The semi-voluntary and semi-deliberate exhibition of herd-like behaviours as a bonding mechanism is nothing new but it's only every now and then that I get to see them in action in close-up in the flesh. As long as everyone at the office winter festive period meal-party seemed to think that they appeared to be seeming to enjoy themselves, that's the main thing.

There's definitely no need to wave the little plastic football rattle which came in a cracker in the morning, (presumably) before the drinking started, in the office, whilst people were still attempting to work. No need whatsoever.

Though I'd walked past if often enough to be sufficiently aware of it to know where it was to within twenty metres I'd never been to La Tasca before and would probably not now ever choose to go there again of my own volition. The nicest thing we had to eat was one of the dipping-oils supplied with the (cheap, white) dipping bread of the pre-starter course. Nothing else was exactly bad but most other things where somewhat meh-ish, though reasonably plentiful and adequately cooked or heated (where appropriate). It's a bit like you'd imagine tapas made from written instructions in something like a British cookbook from the era where pizzas and quiches where still classed as foreign foods (and treated warily/disdainfully) to taste like. In its favour there was no ear-fucking music being played and the shrieks of the people in shouting-mood were this not ramped up correspondingly, though I still had a slightly hoarse voice in the morning which at least indicates that I did do a bit of speaking-to-people at some point.