Impressions of a perfectly enjoyable evening

It was the work night out on Saturday night. That time of year we all love when you pretend to like your work colleagues and have dinner together for Christmas. We all gathered in the opulent surroundings of the Corinthian in Glasgow City Centre for a an early festive dinner complete with drinks, too much cutlery and slow table service. The food was great but the crackers were rubbish. You'd think a posh restaurant of the Corinthian kind would have half decent crackers for a Christmas dinner but no, the jokes were still teeth grindingly bad and the gifts even worse. Most people ended up with those horrible black plastic moustaches which dig into the nasal septum generally causing extreme pain in the hope of getting a vague laugh. The service was pretty good though and the steak which some of us chose for main course was fantastic. We then retired to the lounge area which used to be the High court after it had housed the Union Bank of Scotland through the 1800s. With ornate decor, pillars and chandeliers it all looks very nice but, unfortunately, however it pretty much has the atmosphere of a morgue or at least it did on the night in question. This atmosphere was further enhanced by the presence of one of the guys' wives, both of whom are in the middle of a seperation. She had accompanied one of the other employees as a friend and as you can imagine this did not exactly help add to the Christmas spirit. The atmosphere remained slightly awkward because of this but the guy in question, too laid back to make any kind of fuss over it, remained silent but uncomfortable. Fortunately she didn't hang around too long. Getting bored in the prentension of the Corinthian, Creamy Chicken John, Stuart, Gareth and myself starting scouting around to see if anyone fancied a move to another bar. No one did so we left the company ourselves leaving the others to it.
Our small, motley group went on to Rab Ha's for a Furstenberg or two and then ended up in the Horseshoe Bar for a few whiskies and bourbons (for half the price!). Since coming back to work Gareth and Creamy Chicken John have been spreading malicious gossip about how I was apparently drunken and disorderly the whole night. Shouting at people, chatting up barmaids, being rude to Susan Boyle lookalikes from Kilmarnock and getting the wrong bus home. None of which happened, of course. I was perfectly civil to the Susan Boyle lookalikes for instance and deliberately got the wrong bus home as the number 20, true to form, had not turned up. I had returned home, after getting off at the closest bus stop 3/4 mile away, under the impression that I'd had an overall, perfectly enjoyable evening only to be told on the Monday of all the weird and disturbing things that had actually taken place. Quite frankly I prefer my memories of the night and don't believe a word of their distorted, fantastical stories - certainly not the one about me dancing home, out of Glasgow, on the Number 18 roof like Teen Wolf.