I hate office Christmas parties. I really don't know why I'm even here. God. The staff lounge is full of people making twats of themselves -- completely pissed, most of them. And who put up the crappy tinsel? Tragic.

Three of us from Sales are hiding away by the drinks table. Julie and Beth are both wearing red and making jokes about "getting festive". I don't know the people they're gossiping about, though, so I stand there drinking own-brand lemonade until I have a clue who they're talking about.

'Course, they would have to talk about Graham Beck, but at least he's one bastard I actually know.

"Where is Graham, anyway?"

I don't really care, but I can't stand there looking daft much longer without getting funny looks. Besides, it is weird that he's not around. He usually acts like going to a work Christmas bash is the highlight of the year.

Julie just giggles at me. Thirty, and she giggles. Honestly.

"He's off shagging Marcie in Refrigeration!"

"You what? He's got a girlfriend, hasn't he?"

I'm sure he has, too -- though God knows how. Actually, anybody wanting to shag Graham is a bit of a stretch. He's a nasty piece of work. Probably reads the Daily Mail and thinks that makes him God's gift or something.

"Yeah -- Sally. Poor cow." She shakes her head sympathetically. Doesn't look like she's that sympathetic, though, 'cause she immediately moves on. "What about you, anyway? You must've got yourself a girlfriend, right?"

"Er, no, actually."

Beth stares at me like I started talking Klingon or something. God, that's probably the worst bit about these do's -- they're always so... straight. I've got to wonder what would happen if I then sort of happened to add "But there was this gorgeous bloke down on Canal Street the other night." Not that I would. That's the sort of thing Stuart does, not me. He'd tell them all to fuck off.

Then she beams and goes "We'll just have to set you up, then!"

Great. Just fucking great.

Of course, Graham chooses that moment to descend, radiating waves of smugness and generally acting like the whole do is for him.

"Vince! How -- nice to see you here."

"Yeah, same here, Graham."

Right.

"I hear you decided not to go for that floor manager position -- I'm sorry. Your family could have done with the money, really."

Presuming bastard.

"Pete says he's leaving soon, though -- wants to live in New Zealand. Maybe next time."

My mobile goes off -- I'm saved! I go off to a corner to answer it. It turns out it's Stuart, who's pissed already, just to tell me that he's having a great night. I tell him that I'm really very pleased for him, then hang up and go back to the drinks table trying to look disappointed.

"I'm really sorry -- something came up. Urgent. I've really got to go."

And I leave, wishing I could say it his face. Fuck off, Graham. Just fuck off.