Extra Salt & Sauce

In preparation for the spring, we're having a bit of an office reshuffle to accommodate our ever expanding number of staff.

From our vantage point on the fourth floor, we've been watching the box packing from afar for the past few weeks. But this weekend, we had a more of an up close and personal encounter with the removal men. As they came to take the beautiful Stripettes away and install them (in custom-made quarters, no less) on the fourth floor.

From a completely selfish point of view, I am mildy relieved that they are gone. They are always perfectly manicured and impeccably turned out to a woman. Conrad, the gentleman of the team, is equally tailored but in more of a male way. I have felt ashamed of my own sloppy garb at numerous points over these past months as they tip-tapped to the photocopier in another pair of vertiginous shoes.

Haute couture aside, we shall miss them up here. Tiger is a faithful friend but not quite such perky company.

Last Thursday saw us all on a bus out to Musselburgh for the agency Christmas party. We went to a very fine restaurant called The Glasshouse, selected on the basis of rave reviews from various journalists over the past year since its opening.

We dressed finely in our finery and drank copiously and drunkenly. A tried and trusted recipe for festive frolics.

I can't really say much about how wonderful a night it was as I was on the organising committee and god forbid that I do anything in the way of personal trumpet blowing. But I can say especial thanks to Brie for tremendous organisational efforts.

A few sore heads in the office the next day. Interestingly, everyone blamed the fizz for subsequent sickness - rather than the quantities drunk.

There's a remarkably intelligent graffitti artist roaming the streets of Leith at the moment. At the foot of Leith Walk, he / she has scrawled "I SENT YOU FLOWERS YOU SAID YOU WANTED CHOCOLATES".

Further up the road (exact same 'hand'writing): DANTE NAMED HER BEATRICE. It was this that really caught my attention as my ill-educated mind felt that he was trying to say something deeply meaningful but wasn't clever enough to know what that might be.

A little investigation reveals that Beatrice was Dante's muse - although they may only have met twice in their lives. And one of these times was when Dante was only 8. But he used her throughout his work as a symbol of God's love, of divine revelation, of Christ himself, of faith and of salvation. Clearly depending on what most suited his point at the time.

So Dante naming Beatrice may be some clever philosophical point. Or maybe just sounded good at the time.

Anyway, I pay particular attention to this guy as he has also seen fit to scrawl on one of our Ocean Terminal posters. Crazy anti-capitalist talk: DON'T BUY ANYTHING NEW THIS CHRISTMAS. I felt immensely irritated with this - as the poster visuals are lovely.

Almost (but not quite) worse - he dared to scrawl some cruel words on the giant Kylie album poster mid-way down Leith Walk.

So he / she may be a wannabe intellectual - and I don't mind him airing his thoughts on boring brick walls - but please Mr Grafitti if you're reading this - leave our posters alone.

People are starting to drift out of the office now, festive bound. Alan has just set sail for Barcelona, Sophie's heading back home to Belgium, Clare's off home to pack before flying to Spain at the weekend, Kenny's off to try and snatch a last minute Wii and then another batch of people finish up tomorrow, all thoughtlessly abandoning Brie for her birthday lunch on Friday.

I'm finishing up tonight for some panic shopping and a couple of spins on the big wheel. Not back until the new year which feels very self-indulgent.

Check out our advent calendar for the final festive countdown.

And have a very merry Christmas.