This is the time of year when half of grocery appears to wander around in a haze as the seasonal bashes take their toll. But our vote for the whackiest and best of all the Christmas bunfights goes to the Irish Food Board (Bord Bía) who staged a packed party at the Irish embassy. Word has it that most of the trade's great and good were there to pay homage to the Emerald Isle's greatest liquid export but, alas, I can't swear to that, given the heaving throng that was this year's celebration. Mind you, the draught Guinness which kept so many of us lubricated was, alas, not from the banks of the Liffey, but the great brewer's establishment at London's Park Royal. However, even the greenest of the Irish present swore blind they couldn't tell the difference and, after the seventh pint, neither could we. And so successful was the event that when the Irish security folk coaxed the guests out into the London night, a couple of coachloads of trade worthies continued the celebrations at a swish West End hotel. And talking of parties, wild horses couldn't drag from me the name of the Midlands cash and carry exec who, after a bash at an equally posh West End hostelry took the train home to Birmingham from Paddington rather than Euston, and ended up 30 miles to the West of the capital. My week of partying ended at the Swedish Trade Centre's candlelit Christmas do, where the superb gravadlax got my vote as the best nosh of the season. The only funny sight of note came when a distinguished London PR guru arrived and promptly marched into the broom cupboard in a bid to find the cloakroom. Things like that happen at Christmas! {{COUNTERPOINT }}