So we’re well into 2016… and still I am haunted by memories of my work Christmas party. Albeit hazy ones.
Working from home in Yorkshire, my Christmas do is the one solitary time of year when I can meet with all my colleagues in London and show them I’m a face – not just a voice on the phone and a name clogging up their inbox. It’s also the time to buy your boss a beer and be charming and witty.
Instead (I am told) I straddled a bucking bronco, skirt hitched to my waist, chased an X Factor contestant round a bar, cleared the dancefloor and photobombed John Prescott. Oh, and exchanged words with a bouncer outside a members-only club, possibly somewhere around Shoreditch.
But it wasn’t my fault. Honest. Well, not all my fault.
See, the buffet food provided at the party, there to soak up all the lovely free wine, contained gluten. ALL of it. Mini gourmet burgers and toad in the hole on cocktail sticks. Fun-sized fish and chips. Bruschetta. Pizza. Every silver platter that was brought out made my heart sink and head spin that little bit more.
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Staff told me they had NOTHING I could safely eat. You’d think a restaurant in Canary Wharf would be better prepared for coeliacs and other tricky eaters like me. I hadn’t even bothered to call and ask in advance as I thought a gluten-free option would be served as standard.
It was worse than those awkward team-building sessions and training days, where you break for lunch and the only thing you can eat is a soggy slice of red pepper next to some hummus, which is soon contaminated by colleagues who dip their crisps into it.
And this is why I bought myself an oversized handbag. So I can fill it with gluten-free emergency food and eat out of it like some crazy bag lady wherever I am.
And it’s also why I’m doing Dry January for the first time ever.
By Kay Harrison – Fuzzy-headed coeliac