Anytime. Regardless. At our place we've already had two, albeit unofficial, Christmas parties. The season to be jolly kicks off in the final throes of November and doesn't end until the New Year. Last year, because it's cheaper to book a function room in January, we had ours on 6 January. Classy.

I love Christmas party season. Well, I love it at the beginning, when there's so much to look forward to. Near the end, as the annual risk of diabetes kicks in, the rush begins to fade and eventually crash . . .another night out can be a tedious affair.

This is why they booked our party for 6 January. Half of us were still deluding ourselves that we'd stay off the drink for the New Year and the rest hadn't the energy any more. The hangovers were few and far between on the morning of 7 January. The free bar, as the suits upstairs had no doubt previously calculated, was an academic and, indeed, inexpensive exercise, tax deductible or not.

This year, as a gesture of goodwill, we have been told the Christmas party will revert to its traditional time of year, December.

December in Ireland requires endurance. It can mean carrying on regardless of physical, financial or spousal pressure. It can mean going out to the office Christmas party, getting up the next day for work and heading out again that night for the department Christmas party.

Your football team will have one and of course your peer group will have one or two as well. Interspersed among these will be various gatherings of different people and groups you belong to; each one will be of stag or hen night proportions and you'll be loath to miss any of them.

As the season progresses, your stamina is tested and depleted.

But at the work do there is an added extra. If you accept the fact that drink will not allow you to heed the Christmas party advice of the various articles in the newspapers, creating, facing and avoiding the consequences of a drunken staff/management confrontation can be quite an adrenaline rush. For those of us who are too lazy for extreme sports, bringing your career to the brink of destruction in an alcohol-fuelled haze of pure stupidity and then hauling it back in with the requisite mix of intrigue, suspense and contrition is as close as you're going to get, baby!

It also makes for a very interesting night, especially if you're on the receiving end.

Because management get wrecked too you know. More interesting than the staff/management confrontation is the management / staff confrontation. There is no more entertaining spectacle than having your boss give you the hairdryer treatment in front of his bosses. When you've no career ambitions, needless, drunken, aggressive and, may I say, unfounded criticism from above can really brighten the night up. If you perfect the "you see what I have to put up with" demeanour, it can make for a very easy ride in the New Year.

Confrontations are what Christmas parties are all about. That's why they exist.

They entertain participant and onlooker alike, if approached in the right way.

Should you really care about your job . . . I mean really care about it . . . then it's best avoided. Fortunately, where I work, staff morale is at such a point that seeing how far you can go without being dismissed is simply something to get involved in, something to interrupt the monotony of what we do, how often we do it and how much we get paid for the privilege.

In a funny sort of way it's a superb morale booster. In fact, at management training courses it should be positively encouraged. I wonder how productivity would be affected if, on a monthly basis, staff were brought to a private venue, plied with drink and encouraged to pillory management. Upon spotting a likely (tipsy) candidate, bosses would perhaps play devil's advocate for a moment, say something controversial, maybe even slightly exaggerated, and prepare to mentally sift through the "You know what I really thinks" and the "fand another things| that would no doubt follow. Because in drunkenness, many a truth is told. The Christmas party would become a force for good and employees' grievances would be heard and documented, sometimes without that employee ever remembering it.

But then, of course, where would the fun be in that?

(Wage Slave is a drone in a hive of cubes.

And if the guy three cubes down doesn't change the ringtone from Slade's 'Merry Christmas Everybody', even the industrial stainproof carpeting will take months to recover)