Willy Trolove: Can you spot the wildlife at the office Christmas party?

Chances are that your organisation has a number of written procedures that explain how you should carry out all of all those terribly crucial work-related activities, like using the photocopier, paying off TAB debts with the company credit card and having an affair with your manager.

These are called quality assurance documents, key management tools or a load of old codswallop, depending on your level in the company.

But there is one work-related activity seldom governed by a procedure - the Christmas Party.

The Christmas Party stands on that dangerous and squelchy ground between work and private life. Your employer pays for the Christmas Party, so it expects you to turn up and behave in a respectful-employee kind of way. But because the Christmas Party takes place outside work hours and you are not being paid to attend, the traditional employer-employee relationship can get a little murky.

Often the Christmas Party involves a mystery activity, a secret location, or the surprise appearance of a minor celebrity who was last seen kissing zoo animals to drum up donations.

When the mystery activity/location/celebrity is combined with the murky employer-employee relationship, alcohol, a year's worth of pent-up frustrations and skirts that are shorter than they usually are, the annual Christmas Party can have some interesting consequences.

To ensure that you are not one of these consequences, it is best to sit back and take in the entertainment, which may or may not include some or all of the following:

Disgruntled middle manager: Overlooked for promotion for the seventh year running, his annual bonus is far less than expected. He spends the night complaining the firm would be nothing without him and questioning his boss's sexual orientation.

After failing to provoke a rebellion among the admin staff, and having a swing at the celebrity, he storms out of the party.

He spends the rest of the evening photocopying his backside and faxing it to his superiors, along with the festive seasonal greeting "You know where you can shove your annual bonus, don't you?"

Drunk marketing executive: She makes an impromptu speech at the precise moment in the evening when alcohol has rendered her incomprehensible. The only part of her speech that anyone understands is an inappropriate remark about the incontinent walrus who runs accounts.

Fortunately, before the damage is irreversible, she passes out in her dessert, and spends the rest of the night propped up in a corner, smiling inanely, with a pavlova and strawberry facemask.

Talentless buffoon: Uninvited, he seizes the microphone and provides an offensive commentary for the mystery activity. Then, without accompaniment, he sings Bridge Over Troubled Water so badly that everyone thinks it's Auld Lang Syne.

His rendition causes the sudden death of an undisclosed number of cats in the surrounding neighbourhood. At last, he finishes the song and goes to the lavatory, but neglects to switch off the microphone.

The dark horse: The least competent employee, she is kept on only because the management has no idea what she does, has forgotten her name, and is unsure of exactly how to fire her.

Unknown by nine-tenths of the staff, she sets the Christmas Party alight with her hidden talents. She swallows swords, juggles revving chainsaws and performs a magic act on the chief financial officer in which she removes his underpants without him noticing.

Dance champion: He is the most boring employee. His brown ties, 1970s school-teacher shirts, flawless middle parting and fascination with the royal crests of eastern Europe are legend. Yet he turns up for the Christmas Party at its mystery dance location in a full-length lycra bodysuit with his hairy chest exposed and medallion dangling. He out-dances everyone, and goes home with the celebrity.

The smouldering lovers: Months of unrequited workplace lust have built up, and they sneak away during the speeches for some quiet time together. Later, they are discovered in the boardroom by the catering staff, naked and hopelessly entangled in the video-projection equipment.

Grumpy chief executive: He doesn't really want to be at the Christmas Party, mixing with the non-executive staff. Every year he has to put up with the same old abuse, the same old absurd ideas about improving the organisation, and the same old crude goings-on. And every year he gets fed up with it all, vows to implement a procedure for the Christmas Party that outlaws bad behaviour, and leaves early for his annual eight-week holiday in the Bahamas with his personal assistant.