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I’ve got my company Christmas party tonight, and I can’t help but imagine getting one of those talks the following morning like you see on those TV ads..

‘You’ve got to stop bringing your friends to the office parties. “Obnoxious” Rose, “let’s take off our pants” Rose, “I don’t like any of you” Rose..’

So I am going in to this year’s Christmas party well researched on what appropriate office party etiquette is.

According to a study at the University of Birmingham, alcohol causes disinhibiting effects (well, duh). The study also says that we are more likely to act silly drinking in an environment which we only associate with work as well as with people who we don’t usually drink with.

It is recommended that you:

Eat dinner.

Do not do shots.

Wear ugly underwear so you do not want take off your clothes.

Match every alcoholic drink with a glass of water.

Do not tell your colleagues what you really think of them.

Do not decide that you are worthy of making a speech, and that it would be good to start crying during that speech for an emotional effect.

Go home when things start looking fuzzy, and/or you are beginning to find your boss attractive.

And whatever you do, do not call in sick the next day with “food poisoning” – they will see right through this lie, and it is your professional obligation to turn up to work on time and work your hung-over butt off to prove the company wrong.

If you are a little bit ill the next day, have a shower, wash your hair, cover yourself in perfume, brush your teeth, put on some lipstick and GRIN AND BARE IT.

Follow these rules with me, and you too might have the joy of NOT finding photocopies of your ‘unspeakables’ plastered all over your pin board the next day.

Wish me luck!

When it gets to early November, my grandmother never fails to remind me that I need to start making Christmas cakes. One for people who drop by over the holiday period, one for my brother (because for some reason she thinks this is my job) and one for January. As much as I love Nana, I don’t know if she realizes that modern women like me aren’t nearly as domesticated as she thinks. I would rather open a jar of gherkins and dump them on the coffee table for my visitors than spend a whole day baking a hundred kilos of assorted dried fruit together.

I have just moved into a new loft with my partner, and am still in the nesting stage. So I thought it might be nice to at least attempt to be hospitable to my guests and offer them cake. I emailed around my girlfriends asking for recipes and the only real reply other than “go get a ready made one” was the following from my friend Fran.

Christmas Cake

1 cup water    
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
lemon juice
4 large eggs
1 cup assorted nuts
1 bottle of brandy
2 cups of dried fruit 

Sample Brandy to check the quality. Take a large bowl and check the brandy again. To be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup of brandy and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Ass one teaspoon of sugar. Bet again. At this point it is best to make sure the brandy is shtill alrighty. Try more just to be surree. Turn off the mixerer. Throw leggs in to thee bowl and then pour the dried fruit into your hands and throw it at the eggs. Pick fruit off the floor. Mix on the turner. if the frieddruit gets stuck in the beaterers pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample Brandy to check for tonsisticity. Next sift a bunch of salt. Or sumthing, who giveshz a toss. Check the brandy. Yummmmmmm. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add some sugar or something. Whatever. Grease the overn. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Throw the bowl out the window, finish the brandy and kick the cat.

Thanks Fran, Nana will be so proud.

One morning this week I was running late for the train. I had no time to eat breakfast or have my morning plunger, so I grabbed a ginger beer from the fridge and ran along trying to drink it (and instead spilling it on myself) I made it to the train and got to my meeting just on time. By the time I met with my colleagues I had forgotten about the sticky ginger mess all over my dress. They pointed, they laughed, and I moaned about how I had tried to run and drink at the same time. This isn’t the first time I have attempted the sprinty-drinky challenge and not the first time I have found my clothes glued to me on my lunch break.

But what’s a girl to do?

Once the laughter had stopped, my workmates told me that there is a solution to this issue. Ginger beer ice blocks. GINGER BEER. ICE BLOCKS. I ran across the street and got one instantly.

The Ice Bar Collective know all the answers to my problems, and I have truly fallen in love with their debut range. Not only is there a ginger beer flavour, but there’s a lemon lime and bitters and an old fashioned lemonade!

It’s so nice to have an ice block designed just for a grown up. There’s no crazy colour, no bubble gum nose, and no nonsense candy drops. I thought about all the new opportunities that the Ice Bar Co have created for me. I went home and put an Old Fashioned Lemonade ice block into a glass and poured a beer over it – SHANDY!!

My clothes are no longer sticky, running is no longer tricky, with ginger beer on a stick, I get anywhere quick... no mess for around two dollars fifty!

Today I sat outside our office in the sun having my morning coffee. We see many interesting outfits pass our windows, and now that summer is finally rearing its pretty head, more skin is showing, pretty floral dresses are being pulled from wardrobes and peep-toe shoes are back with vengeance.

While taking a sip from my terribly bitter black instant coffee (we are out of soy, it’s Friday, this always happens) a girl across the street caught my eye. Her hair was perfectly tousled, her tan was natural, her spotty beige dress showed off her figure perfectly. Everything was going well for her, until I looked at her feet.

Peep-toe shoes
And
Tights.

This potential goddess had paired dusty pink opaque tights, with strappy blue espadrilles. It just didn’t work, it made me squirm, it made me want to cry a little bit for her. It made me question, is it ever right to wear tights with peep-toe shoes? When I asked this question to our office, the collective answer was;

“Yes, but you need to make it look deliberate. You need to stand tall, be confident and walk with purpose. It also depends how open the toe is.”

So here are the rules;

Team peep-toe shoes with a pair of tights or cute socks that are a very close colour match to your shoes - this will look purposeful, and make your legs appear longer.

Never wear black opaques under white peep-toes - this just looks like you;
A)    Want to cover up the fact you haven’t shaved
B)    Wanted to wear these shoes but had no tights to match
C)    Had no other option except white heels (which would be a worry)

Colour blocking is huge right now, so maybe opt for some bright yellow tights under your black peeps!

If you want to opt for black opaque, make sure they are of a high denier and don’t show your toes through them like sheers would. Black with black is great, or go for a really chunky bright colour.

If the toe is so open that you can see all 5 of your little piggies, stay away from tights.

Just whatever you do, walk tall, be confident, and look like you have purpose.

I was at the airport recently watching people return from their business day trips on the usual seven o’clock Auckland - Wellington flight. Sitting next to a little boy and his mother, the boy turned and asked “mummy, have they all been to a funeral?” She laughed and replied, “no sweetie they have just been at work.”

This little boy had a point. Every one of the returnees was adorned in black; the uniform of Wellington business men and women.

When did this rule come in that we have to wear black everywhere we go? I was taught by my mother that black is always a safe option, because it goes with everything, is flattering and doesn’t show the dirt like colour does.

When I returned home from the airport I looked in my wardrobe; a sea of night hued materials, and one yellow dress that I think I have probably only worn once. Just for a laugh, I decided to put the dress on, and I felt so unusual. This wave of happiness crept over me, all of a sudden I was seeing life through rose tinted glasses and the world seemed a much lovelier place. I walked out of my bedroom into the lounge where my partner looked shocked and asked, “What is going on? Where are you going?” This is when I truly realised that a lot of us, as Wellingtonians, are what I am going to refer to as clothing racists.

But how does one rise to the top of this drowning pool of black? How do we get out of this rut we seem to find ourselves in at the end of winter? How on earth do we wear colour?

Here is some inspiration, I dare, no, I DOUBLE DARE you to try it.