I walk out of the office at 10.30 pm, rather tired and dispirited, as one would be. In the lift lobby, I hear music pounding from the roof - JWT's having some species of jamboree on the roof, I saw them setting up earlier. I consider crashing it, but catch sight of myself in the fancy glass wall and reconsider in a hurry. When the lift arrives it contains a picturesque man, only slightly unsteady. When I get in he asks me confidentially: is this going up or down? Down, I say kindly, but with a private grin. I am suddenly and strangely cheered by this sign that it's a good party upstairs. Downstairs I find two girls in full carnavale mode handing out something or the other to people coming in. I assume they're part of the JWT theme. But when I pause to take a picture I learn that the person accompanying them works for Lowe, who are having a rival party down the road and are here poaching guests for good-natured, though mysterious, reasons.
The private grin is now very much out in the open. In fact, my evening has suddenly become so wonderfully nuts that I feel as effervescent as if I did go to one or both of the parties. It's one of those moments when I remember what I like about being in advertising. Nobody parties like an agency. And nobody else chooses a Monday night for a Street Party that proclaims "1 Night, 3 Bars, Free flow".
Right now, I'm sitting on the train with an invitation in one hand, my phone in the other, a manic grin on my face, writing this. It started as a Tweet, migrated to a Facebook status when Twitter proved inadequate and finally fetched up here when I realized even FB did not have enough scope!
You'd think the invite would be tempting but even my dead body wouldn't go to a party looking like I do now. As you can see from the picture!
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