London Technology Public Relations agency | Social Media Strategy | B2B PR | Chameleon PR

It may have been the free booze after numerous expensive Bank Holidays, but we like to think it was the highly intellectually stimulating and entertaining conversation on offer…

Either way, a great time was had by all. ‘Wobbly Wednesday’, as it is affectionately known, is Chameleon’s tech drinking bash on the last Wednesday of each month in a lovely public (relations) house usually in or around the tech journo hub that is Soho.

Wobbly regulars are analysts, journalists and bloggers covering a wide range of tech, B2B and IT publications and websites. Everybody gets to know each other over a few glasses of Pinot Grigio/pints of beer, a lovely time being had by all.

It’s a nice opportunity for us flacks and assorted flacks to let down our hair and have a have a good old natter; without all the PRs being on message, or the journos having to feign politeness. Indeed, cutting banter and witty putdowns are an essential component of the all-night verbal jousting.

And, like night follows day, there’s usually plenty of  ’yummy’ deep fried food too. And, because headaches are the penalty of too much fun, we’re usually a bit late into the office on the following Thursday…

The semi-clad lumberjack streaking act found particular favour with the Wednesday Wobblies…

The sophisticated discussion about how technology is changing the business landscape, and life itself, descended into general chaos. Damn the free bar that always seems to result in people talking nonsense at high volume.

The Dog & Duck in Soho was the venue for last night’s Wobbly Wednesday, the second month running that the real ale pub has played host. It’s not just the location, the range of beers, the function room, the staff and the outdoor space that makes it so scrumptious; it’s the deep fried food. There is a thing or two BP could learn from the Dog & Duck’s deep, deep, deep oil frying…

The cream of the UK tech and marketing journo scene had largely gone home by the time it seemed like a good idea to carry on elsewhere after the pub had closed.

The Crobar is very loud. The floor is sticky. Odours such as honest toil and Indian ink hang in the air. A strong magnet would pull the vast majority of punters across the mosh pit. There’s a dedication to black clothing of which Henry Ford would be proud. In short, it’s fabulous. At least, it is after a night of beer topped off with a few Jägerbombs.

Last Chameleon standing? Richard; respect.