Inspired by my trip to wonderful Woolwich Polytechnic school, I've been practising the popping, locking and krumping moves the pupils showed in a dance-off. I should be a Strictly "10" in time for i's Christmas party.
Except there isn't one – at least not for us journos. That said, I am pretty sure I spied colleagues in other departments glamming up the other night, but they wouldn't have had a party without us, dear reader, would they? The thought.
Still, better to see them the night before than the morning after, in the same glad rags. Yes, it's that time of the year, when many are caught doing the "walk of shame".
Some at i had never heard of "the walk" until they watched Harvey Nichols' sharply observed viral ad on the topic. It's the antidote to the John Lewis ad for all who find the latter a little too saccharine.
The "walk of shame" is when someone has to walk through the dawn streets in their party gear from the night before. It is usually applied to women, because their party clothes are more obviously glammed-up compared to most men - unless men are in black tie. Even then, unfortunately, we still live in a society where a man might regard his walk of shame as more of a "saunter of honour".
A father of two young teenage daughters can no longer approach this subject with the mirth of his carefree youth. There is only the gnawing feeling of future dread, and a desire, when leaving work late at night, stone-cold sober amid a sea of drunks from the local clubs, to want to place my coat or scarf around girls in their nearly-there skirts and heels as they stagger on to the next party.
Oh dear. How Daily Mail! I really am getting old. Until tomorrow...