Saturday… no party its nearly another christmas…

There were no parties any longer, it was twelves years since he had last attended a works Christmas party. Four years ago the Christmas eve party had been a success, just as every Christmas Eve party is always a success, a friend had danced with her husband by the tree to the Ahmed Jamel trio, by the bifold doors another person told us something that seems like a truth. Which as we turned away we immediately forgot. By this time we were tired of carrying out our duties as a host and really just wanted to sit quietly in the corner with whoever was left talking of the family. So that in the conversation we responded with no insights, unless you believe in the intelligence of silence and were incapable of dancing. Later, after nearly everyone has left and the only people remaining are those sleeping in the house, we are all the more pleased and thankful to our friends and virtual family members, which we tell the remaining few as we talk about the party and the exhausting effort of preparing the food and hosting… The philosopher remembers nothing about the truth he spoke of except that his Nietzschean girlfriend slapped his face (because of his insulting of the Nietzschean Bestiary), the dancers speak of how nice it had been to dance the tango under the stars, whilst M. and I. speak of the terrors of finding new furniture for their rebuilt house. S. reminds us about the small children who had run around changing the labels on the presents under the tree, we open a bottle of Russian vodka (which has no gift label so its been co-opted) and pour shots into crysal shot glasses whilst sniffing the feintly oily smell at two in the morning. It is unknown whether any of us was at the same party…