Some have been sedate affairs where nothing happens and everybody behaves themselves. Nobody is "that guy" if you know what I mean.
But I have to admit quite a few of the work functions I have attended around the country over the course of the past 42 years have been er, well, rather messy.
This has probably been due to the fact work dos I've ever been to have only ever involved food and drink. Quite a bit of the latter if I'm honest.
And this has led to some issues.
There was the time an early morning wheelie bin race got out of hand and ended up with the corner of an inner-city brick building being broken off.
Then there was the time the three boys from the ground floor got up on stage and did their rendition of Riverdance, that popular foot stomping classic. Unfortunately, they did it on the billiard table in the boardroom which didn't go down too well.
And let's not forget "Bob" from Accounts - not his real name but Kevin was already taken.
Everybody has a Bob at their workplace. At mine, a well-lubricated Bob managed to injure himself in some way or another before the night was out five years in a row.
It became a standing joke among the organisers. Someone would sort the food, another the drink and another would make sure the ambulance was on standby for Bob.
But I digress. Back to the here and now.
As you know I am relatively recently back into the fulltime fold with a new company and last week was the first work function I'd been to.
Now, I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I am older than my workmates by 25 years at least and, let's face it, when it comes to keeping up with the young bucks I'm a little behind the 8-ball as it were.
Don't get me wrong, I don't have incurable OF (Old Fartism) just yet. But I'm sure it's lurking dormant inside me somewhere. I can feel it. Particularly when I get asked out to the pub for a few beers and I find myself considering whether a Milo and an early night might be a better alternative.
So I faced the function with a little trepidation it has to be said.
As it turned out I needn't have worried. Our bosses are very big on inclusive workplace culture and making sure everyone is happy, healthy and content.
To that end our work do began with free health checks for all staff, a quickfire update on where we are at followed by an equally quick chat from the boss about behavioural expectations for the festivities ahead (I swear he said don't be 'that' guy) and then we were into it.
Drink and food naturally, but the afternoon and evening centred around racing car simulators they had hired for the day, a huge departure for someone of my vintage used to the straight boozing evenings of my early years.
At the end of the day, as with the start, everybody was chauffeur-driven home safely.
It has to be said great fun was had by all.
No brick buildings were broken, billiard tables damaged or ambulances called for Bob.
And in case you were wondering about the watery link, nobody ended up being thrown in a swimming pool either.
Long story short, my health check turned up an issue that needs addressing. Part of that process is the need to restore some fitness to my lifestyle reasonably quickly.
So, with that in mind, I rummaged through my wardrobe until I found my old togs and one lunchtime last week I hit the pool.
I don't know why I didn't think carefully about it but it would be fair to say my togs have seen better days – mostly from the late 1970s when I reckon I bought them from Farmers.
And as I sucked in my belly (as you do) and strode to the deep end, past the ladies doing aquajogging, the old cord holding them up finally gave in and snapped.
I caught my togs as they were picking up speed on the journey south and hoped like hell nobody had seen what had happened. The hoots of laughter from the aquajoggers suggested not.
So, I didn't quite make it into the water that day. But I will be back.
And I'm hoping when I do go back the aquajoggers aren't there, eagerly waiting for the aquatic version of Bob from Accounts to do it all over again.
