My big night out

I'm writing this post on a train back from London.  The train is packed, laptop perched on my knees, typing with two fingers. Apologies for any typos, I've had a few drinks.   

As I look around, I fit right in, though I don't have an iPhone, Blackberry, or McDonald's french fries.

About a year ago, I started marketing consulting for a software company in London. It's about one day a week, which is just enough to keep my jargon up-to-date, yet little enough to fit in my mummy lifestyle.

The people I work with are half my age, literally, unless their Bilabonic T-shirts and frayed jeans are a front.

I'm the relic, my dot com background fascinates them. Tell me again how much that CRM company sold for? Really? You went to sales meetings in Cancun? The only kick off meetings we've had recently was in the lobby of a Travel Lodge.

So when they asked me to join them for their Christmas lunch … a gastro pub in London with adult conversation or, hmmmm, the dreaded 3 o'clock-pickup-tea-bathtime-routine on the upside of the Christmas roller coaster. Well, need I say more.

My morning started off in full Mummy Mode. Why do you want the yellow one, isn't pink your favorite color? No I'm not making pancakes this morning. Don't hit your sister, she was only borrowing from you.  There's a shepherds pie for dinner. In the fridge. Yes you need to cook it. Anyone completely dressed WITH jumpers on in five minutes gets a smartie.

Somehow I find myself on the train to London, where a miraculous thing takes place. Somewhere between Maidenhead and the Horlicks building, the Marmite stains disappear from my skirt, every hair falls into place and I am transformed into a social media, SEO spewing marketing superstar (yeah, right.)

Lunch started with a glass of champagne, and talk about the best business blogs of 2008. But as the drinks flowed, it digressed, and at one point I was deep in conversation with the office manager, who is closest to my age and has an 18-month-old daughter, about how to check for head lice with conditioner and a nit comb. But this came to a dead stop when we realized the sales director and a programmer were staring at us, jaws dropped.

Back to the NHS Trust project, How the recession will affect business, and gym memberships (lack of).

Then came the Secret Santa. The office manager turned scarlet when she was given a very large and heavy Big Pen*s Book (it lived up to its name). The chief scientist, who turns 30 this week, opened a Big Bank, but through my wonky contact lenses I thought the "a" in bank was an "o". The youngest member of the group got candy pants. For my American readers, pants are not trousers. It's something more intimate.

I was given a sparkly notebook and pen. Of course I was found out because my present was the one neatly wrapped in Winne the Pooh paper (it was all I could find!)

But the most surprising gift was to my boss, the founder and MD. He got an Nintendo DS palm saver. He thanked the unknown giver for their thoughtfulness. Intrigued, I was told there were some great adult games, but the kids stuff was crap, don't bother. I really didn't want to fork over the 90 pounds anyway.

So you see, my child free evening turned out to be not exactly what I expected.

Photo credit: Good Day