Farewell to the Christmas party – you won’t be missed

Nicola Sturgeon has suggested that we postpone our office Christmas parties until the summer. Sorry, has she actually thought this through?

We can’t disgrace ourselves because 2020 disgraced itself (Getty/iStockphoto)

As years go, I think we can probably agree that this has not been a good one. Disgraced itself. Completely outstayed its welcome. Let the side down badly. Which, as it happens, is exactly what we should all be doing right now.

For in any other year, this would be Christmas party season and you would, for the ninth consecutive night, be reeling drunk, wearing a red and green jumper from Asos, and telling your boss that, yeah, he can be a bit of a dick sometimes but you love him anyway and let’s hang out more next year, not in the office, but, like, as mates or whatever.

Approximately five hours after this conversation had taken place, you would then have to go into work, at which point someone, quite probably your boss, would look up and say, “How are you feeling?” Which wouldn’t make you feel at all anxious. But, really, it would be fine because that night, nine hours hence, you would be going to the next Christmas party. And on you would go, swimming through a sea of warm Sauvignon Blanc, until you would eventually be deposited, hollowed out, quite disorientated, on a train home for Christmas.

But, alas, we can’t do any of this stuff at the moment. We can’t disgrace ourselves because 2020 disgraced itself. And actually, come to think of it, perhaps that, right there, is the silver lining to this difficult year. It’s been miserable – but, hey, at least there are no Christmas parties to attend.  

All of which makes the statement by Nicola Sturgeon today very perverse indeed. Even in a year of unexpected statements from politicians, this one raised an eyebrow. Scotland’s first minister suggested, with a completely straight face, that we should consider postponing our Christmas parties until the summer. Not throw a summer party, you understand, but postpone the actual Christmas one – pigs in blankets, mistletoe, vomit and all, presumably.  

“By far the best way of marking Christmas with your colleagues this year is virtually,” explained Sturgeon, her reindeer antlers wilting slightly. “And if you can’t do that, then perhaps think about postponing your Christmas celebration into next year, perhaps the spring or the summer of next year, when hopefully we will be starting to see some greater normality return to our lives.”

Now far be it from me to query the first minister – or indeed attempt to get between the Scots and their Christmas parties – but it’s hard to think of many things less likely to signal the return of “some greater normality” than a Christmas party in the summer. The continuation of the most abnormal, messed-up period of our lives, perhaps. But not the return of “some greater normality”. 

Nothing, I fear, would upset the national equanimity more. Imagine… life is creeping back to normal, the bars are busy again, Pret is serving, when suddenly an email from Dave (you know, Dave from HR) pops up in your inbox. “You are invited to Christmas drinks, Thursday 24 June. 5pm in the park. Dress: shorts and Santa hats. Bring sun cream – or get a red nose!”  

Not sure how good the conversation will be, either. “It’s funny, you know, seeing that jumper of yours reminds me of Christmas… very, very bleak time. On my own, yeah, couldn’t risk it with Dad. Awful.” Come on, Dave, let’s get you home, mate.  

I’m sure Sturgeon’s intentions are noble – better times await! – but she risks undermining entire business structures with this reckless suggestion. The Christmas party rules are these: you behave badly, you say things you’ll likely regret, you go home in disgrace for about 10 days and everyone forgets all about it. Remove that last clause, however, and you remove the reset button – the circuit breaker, if you like.

Sometimes it’s best to let things go. There’s always next year for a Christmas party. We may even decide we quite enjoy not having them and make a habit of it. And if, come June, life is back to normal and you really, really want to get the "office gang" together, could I suggest – and I’m going out on a limb here – that you just… take them all to the pub? What could possibly better represent the return of “some greater normality”?