Sunday 25 August 2013

#32 Bank holiday weekend

The August bank holiday weekend in the UK originally occurred under the 1871 Bank Holiday Act, which was later superseded by the Banking and Financial Dealings Act 1971. To celebrate the extra day off, some colleagues and I headed out for a drink.

Project Black Box was a covert, unauthorised work social planned several years ago by a member of staff that has since left the firm. The code-name Black Box, like many of the confidential projects on which we work contained a loose hint about a key aspect of the job. In this case, nothing other than the fact that we really didn't want anyone who saw it in the calendar at 1pm on a Friday to know what it entailed. In the end, despite positive feedback, the project was abandoned due to low uptake. We're quite a busy team and it turned out that most people didn't actually have the time to hit the pub at midday and not come back.

The legitimate and above-board use of project names for nights out after work was later developed during the early part of the twenty first century by a man named Ashish Patel, who adapted the concept by using the names of professional footballers such as Pascal Chimbonda and Sulley Muntari. In doing so, Ash created a series of legendary and memorable nights, attended by representatives of several teams within the company and extended to friends and family. Due to the most special and express request made by Mr. Patel that he be featured in this blog, the names of no other attendees have been disclosed.

The trouble with describing the proper history of events is that sometimes one loses the space and time to write up the experience of the event itself. I wonder. In August, the weather was just about good enough to stand outside the Fine Line, gazing up at the Monument for the first pint or two. After turning up late and smacking the palm off Mr. P (actually it wasn't one of our best high-fives but at least it happened) we settled in to the surroundings and mooched north. Tucked away beneath Minster Court is a place called Agenda, by day a very unremarkable faceless bar. By night, the Ibiza of Fenchurch St. So we danced (yeah I did for a bit) and had tequila and the beats were awesome and the people were pretty. At one point, G was queuing at the bar and since he happened to be sporting a grey jacket embroidered with blue anchors, two blonde girls managed to sneak up behind him while one took a photo of the other licking one of the anchors on his back, without him noticing. Maybe I should get a phone that has a camera on it. Apparently they do them now.

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