Blonde's Eye View: The dreaded Christmas lunch

Even the multitude of food outlets available fail to offer respite, as every lunch date is ruined by riotous gangs of mulled wine swilling office idiots singing "jingle bells, Batman smells" at the next table.

In a scaled back year, when the big bank bashes have been cancelled, and budget conscious companies are cutting party funds, then lunch is a nice cheap alternative.

The estate is overrun with tables of 20, wearing reindeer antlers and paper hats.

There I am minding my glass of Chablis, when my table is enveloped by a crowd of office drones on annual release from their glass prison.

Worse, is getting stuck next to firms meeting clients.

It's all awkward handshakes and aborted air kisses, as desperate bosses and their nominated social secretary try to shore up business for another year.

After stilted exchanges about Tube journeys and the weather, both sides enthusiastically gulp drinks in a bid to fill the embarrassing silences.

Just when my friend is getting to the juicy bit about the guy she met under the mistletoe, our conversation is interrupted by the dinging glass of some David Brent about to make a cringe-inducing toast.

Try as you might to ignore the groups of people either side of you, the sound of their faux fun cuts through any genuine catch-up.

I already spend too much time with my office colleagues, people only attend Christmas dos because they're obligated.

If companies really want to save, they should take the lunch budget and distribute it among their employees.

That way workers can spend it on taking out their real mates, and we can all get on with enjoying our lunch.