I’ve written a lot about the future of work since the start of the pandemic. It seems every client has an opinion on it. This makes a lot of sense, because every client has employees, and those employees need a location from which to work – be it a corporate office, a co-working space, a desk in their home study or an ever-so-slightly sticky coffee shop table.

Despite the tens of thousands of words I’ve produced on the topic of how and where we’re going to work post-pandemic, the debate is largely irrelevant to me. I have worked from home for more than half a decade already, interspersed with periods of what’s now known as hybrid working (although at the time, I probably described it more as a case of ‘showing up when I had to’).

In reality, spending time in the office, or indeed, around other people, is not all that useful for a writer. Which is a shame, because I miss the buzz and the communal feel of office life. My happiest work memories all involve either office-based incidents or post-work pub-based debauchery.

On the radio earlier today, there was an interview with a recent graduate whose first full-time role is 100% remote, working out of her bedroom in her parent’s house in the middle of nowhere. The graduate was asked whether she felt FOMO regarding the social aspects of office-based working, particularly the after-work drinks culture and camaraderie. Her answer was understandably confused. After all, how can a person be reasonably expected to comment on what it’s like to miss out on something they never experienced in the first place?

In my first PR agency role, we used to go out to the pub every Friday night. Initially, I was nervous about tagging along – the newbie, attempting to ingratiate themselves with a group of hardened B2B tech PR boozehounds. But alcohol goes a long way to curing such apprehensions.

Depending on the crowd, it would generally involve either The Woolpack (respectable), The Horseshoe (semi-respectable) or The Rose (reprobates only). Sometimes the evening would last only an hour or so; on other occasions, we’d stay until closing. As the culture of the agency grew stronger, the evenings invariably became longer and merrier. Once we moved office, we were forced to change pubs, but this mattered little. The Rose was replaced by Ruse, The Horseshoe by The Libertine.

And when I joined my second agency, exactly the same thing happened, only with more people and more debauchery. We worked harder, and we played harder, aided by a Friday drinks trolley that, over the course of my tenure, began appearing earlier and earlier in the afternoon.

Such merriment took place a decade ago. The culture has changed. I very much doubt that the average workplace can still get away with dishing out copious amounts of free beer, wine, gin and vodka to its staff from 2.30 pm every Friday. And that’s probably for the best.

But it doesn’t matter whether people choose to frequent a juice-bar for an hour after work on a Friday, or go for tapas or curry, or go bonkers in one of the most contemptible pubs in South East London, purely because it happens to be across the road from the office. Whatever the activity, Friday night has always been a moment for shared, opt-in experiences with colleagues – the point at which we go from spending time with these people because we have to, to spending time with them because we choose to do so.

I miss those experiences, and it was sad to hear an interview with a young employee who quite literally has no idea what they’re missing out on. Yes, we can attempt to replicate the post-work drink via Zoom; however… do I really need to finish the sentence? There are many excellent reasons for wanting to embrace remote or hybrid working, to come into the office only when we have to, or not at all. But let’s not kid ourselves about the trade-off.