Blonde's Eye View: The boozy working lunch
Angela Clarke's not going back to the office
Occasionally, I have a good old-fashioned working lunch.
One where you barely touch the topic of business and instead screech your way through the wine list, until you stumble out the now empty restaurant, and end up face down in the back of a cab. No point going back to the office now.
Watching my fellow Wharfers discuss growth predictions over lemonade makes me fear the old school method of a working lunch should be placed on the endangered species list.
The traditional boozy Wharf lunch is looking like a fat Dodo, about to get roasted and then conservatively shared over some Pellegrino.
Work socialising is increasingly complicated. When your business associate orders salad and a still water, are they signalling financial restraint, or are they detoxing?
The boozy working lunch is under attack from budget cuts and dieting, from belt tightening in a figurative and a literal sense.
What happens if you fancy steak and the Malbec? Will they panic at the prospect of an expenses inquiry, or glare at you for enjoying the things their healthy eating plan forbids?
Tension is never going to get this deal done. Because, once they've asked you if you got away during August, they really do want to talk about work. I hate this part.
It makes me feel like I should have prepared pie charts and graphs, instead of coming armed with gossip titbits and laughs.
As working lunches are seen as trivial, I fear for the day I'm asked to go Dutch on the bill by my work date. This happened to a friend of mine.
It's not an urban myth, people. You've been warned: don't order the Krug. The boozy working lunch is dead. Long live the boozy working lunch.
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