Every September, I showed up with fresh notebooks, new commitments, lofty goals, and a jam-packed diary. Who was I meeting? Who cared! I was booked and busy—and busyness, I believed, meant I was inching closer to an MBE for services to British business.
I drank the Kool-Aid that said we should return from summer holidays well-rested, tanned (but not sun-damaged), with a stack of books read, and ideally, a new workwear wardrobe. Girl-chat demanded newness—and I was always happy to oblige.
