14 July 2016, 3 pm
Unlucky Gary points out that while I have been busy enjoying not being at CIPA so much, the Gold Leaf Man has visited. He came in the dead of night, waved his magic wand around, nicked some of the committee meeting biscuits (or perhaps that was someone else), and then – hey presto! – my name was there on the list of Past Presidents in CIPA Hall. Immortalised, that’s what I am. In the annals (yes, annals) of CIPA history, unpleasant though that sounds. Our Institute will never be able to forget that for one terrible year – which to Mr Davies seemed like three – it found itself in the hands of a madwoman. I am proud as punch. I had thought that even if they could bring themselves to add my name to the list, they might well have put it in brackets or something, or added an asterisk and an explanation at the end. But of course there was no explanation: no one at CIPA, not even Mr Davies or the current Pee, can think quite how it happened. First there was some straw on the floor, then the Red Bull® fumes, then before they knew it task forces started popping up everywhere (da-da-da-DA!!), and suddenly they had a biscuit-pilfering, rubbish-talking, boundlessly-but-unjustifiably optimistic VeePee hurtling towards them. I suspect many on Council were caught off guard in the same way that we were when the UK voted for Brexit. I like being immortalised. But it is probably not something you want to do more than once in your career.
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