IT is apparently party season when everyone digs out their gladrags and gets ready for the office shindig.

Well, take my advice. Don’t bother. These sort of get togethers invariably end in disaster and tears.

I have only ever been to one office party and that was 35 years ago. Afterwards I vowed never again and I meant it.

Picture the scene. A grotty hotel on the outskirts of a nondescript new town which at the best of times had absolutely nothing going for it.

Christmas food is horrible, but whoever the chef was who “cooked” the turkey on that ghastly occasion should have been shot, especially as it was accompanied by watery overcooked vegetables.

I don’t eat desserts but was reliably informed the Christmas pud had the consistency of a lump of concrete while you could stand a spoon upright in the custard without fear of it toppling over.

There was only one solution. Alcohol. But it was important to ensure you didn’t over indulge. Sage advice, but few took it.

I set my limit at four pints of lager and thank God I stuck to it.

With bladder full to bursting I headed for the gents to relieve myself only to discover to my horror that an advertising manager and company secretary had locked themselves in a cubicle.

Could it get worse? Sure it could and did.

On the way back to the table in the dining room I was struck between the eyes by a bread roll.

Oh, what fun, except it wasn’t remotely.

By now most of those gathered for this ongoing nightmare had taken to the dancefloor, with much drunken groping in evidence.

The middle-aged managing director at the time “hooked up” with the work experience girl and slow danced with her to Only You by Yazoo, wandering hands firmly planted on her bum. He only let go when his wife turned up unexpectedly.

Not much has changed in the intervening years. You hear the stories and it stiffens your resolve never to attend a Christmas party again.

A former colleague endured a nightmare which haunted him for months.

With “beer goggles” firmly in place, he seduced the craziest woman ever to have worked in the newspaper industry. Even worse he had booked a room at the hotel where the evening’s festivities had taken place. His final error of judgement was to invite his new paramour to spend the night with him. I saw him at work the next day, a look of horror on his face.

“I have made the worst mistake of my life,” he mumbled. “She’s a complete nutter... and now she’s threatened to tell my wife. What am I going to do?”

Well, you should have thought about that pal. For the next six months she threatened to spill the beans and he was a gibbering wreck until the day she got another job in another part of the country. He actually cried with relief when she left.

I now have a rule in place when it comes to socialising, from which I will never deviate and it works a treat.

My social circle includes just four people, namely my brother, my mum, my flatmate and my best male friend.

They are the only ones I have socialised with in the past 12 months and I have no desire to add to their number, because in their company I am guaranteed to have a good time.

Casual acquaintances are a complete waste of time. Why bother? There is zero benefit to be had.

Of course, despite the cautionary tales outlined above, many of you will ignore the warning completely and more fool you. Because the chances are you will regret it.

Call me a party pooper but at least I won’t be nursing a hangover or a litany of regrets.

Who wants to wake up with only a hazy memory of what transpired the night before and wondering whether there will be a chorus of disapproval or, even worse, a stony silence when you venture back into the office?

I shall be staying at home on the night in question. It will be a civilised affair.

Maybe a glass or two of wine, food that I actually enjoy, listen to a couple of classic albums and then take in a decent film before a relatively early night and a good sleep, before waking up completely refreshed.

Perhaps age has something to do with it these days. I just don’t want to paint the town red, but then I never have.

By all means go out there and party like its 1999, but don’t say you haven’t been warned.

It is that time of the year when common sense tends to go out of the window and I want no part of it.