Office Christmas Party

The traditional Office Christmas Party (OCP) was an opportunity for company directors to reward their staff. Desks and chairs would be pushed back, triangular white bread sandwiches unwrapped, complimentary loose cigarettes placed in a wide glass and the punch bowl filled. The white wine was warm, lemon bitter, there was sherry for the more mature employee. With the scene set, at 5pm, women would appear fresh from fixing eyelashes in the cloakroom mirror, tongues sticky with hair spray. Men in bland coloured suits would fidget until that first drink loosened ties. The OCP was potentially the greatest pitfall of the social year - some looked forward to an evening that others dreaded. You didn’t want to end the party with a 12 month hangover, to be that person who fuelled months of office gossip - did I really say that to the boss!?

 

©Peter Dench

 

By the late 1990s, the OCP had developed into a more lavish concept. I often had to choose which one to go to or attend several in one evening, thundering across London in the back of a black cab. In 2002, I set out on assignment for The Sunday Telegraph Magazine to document the modern OCP scene. They were far removed from the office and nearer to Halloween than Christmas - something for companies to compete over. At one, a well known travel company had erected a giant marquee in the grounds of the Honourable Artillery Company in London. Employees were transported in from all over the country and from abroad, as far away as Cuba. The evening was billed as The Night of a Thousand Stars. Each guest walked up the red carpet being snapped by fake Paparazzi. Their were dodgems, diamanté Deely boppers, a swing band, celebrity sing-a-likes, mandatory free bar and blankets for the journey home. The real Jason Donovan ducked flung bras singing, Sealed With a Kiss. Slade, Hot Chocolate, The Human League, ABC, Kim Wilde and Tony Hadley from Spandau Ballet, were rumoured to be other acts available for the OCP circuit.

©Peter Dench

The photograph below was taken at The Rainforest Cafe, London, where Lawrence Graham, a firm of solicitors were hosting their OCP. There was fake forest, plastic elephant, recorded gorilla growls, table football, name tags and limbo. John Graham of Lawrence Graham, takes the hand of guest David Smith and a lady whose name I didn’t record. Their application and athleticism shames the culture of the back bending dance. The pin stripe power suits more Tory Party than Trinidadian.

With the hospitality industry devastated, curfews in place and after-work drinks almost certainly off the 2020 Christmas menu, I’m going to OCP like it’s 1969: wrap tinsel around the computer, tack mistletoe to the ceiling, scan body parts, binge eat cheese on a stick and drink Blue Nun until I vomit into a plant pot. You’re all invited, virtually. Don’t be late. Merry Christmas.

 

©Peter Dench