I am the main reason that in our household there is no such thing as
- leftover chocolate,
- spare biscuits, or
- unwanted cake.
It is therefore remarkable that I have managed to save my Savage Chickens moment for a whole week longer than necessary so that it coincided with my birthday.
My version of spoiling myself.
Over and above the translation software upgrade, smartphone, and yesterday’s haircut.
All of which could be rationalised into the “necessary” category, especially the last mentioned.
Once, in the past, I had a strange hatrick:
On three successive birthdays, I spent the entire day in meetings, taking minutes.
That was a whole lot of fun, I can tell you.
No stereotypical shorthand for me.
No. Large, spiky, left-handed script on blank paper with a fountain pen.
In those days, it had just become fashionable for male corporate types to wear pale pink shirts (with the same old revolting ties, needless to say).
I, too, liked to wear the pale pink men’s shirts.
Looking around the board room table (with the odd plain white shirt for variation’s sake) anyone would think it was the marshmallow cricket team on their tea break.
As minute-taker, one’s composure should always be neutral. Your opinion is never sought. No one is interested in what you think.
Perhaps that is just as well.
Happy Savage Chickens Day!