Unreliable memoirs & home truths ...

Ordinarily this missive covers just a seven day period. However, throughout the last couple of weeks I couldn't seem to avoid various outpourings from CEOs, reflecting on 2020. Without exception, all were philosophical, profound and proud of something or other. And no doubt written by their PR managers.

One in particular made me laugh. Every month was a cause for some sort of celebration, proud reflection and significant milestone. I don't recall "shit show" appearing in any of these memoirs. Were they living on a different planet?

My Brief Stint as CEO

I began this year as CEO of the Reignite Academy. I also began this year as the Finance department, PR agency and Head of Admin. Having realised how ridiculous it is trying to divvy up titles and roles, Steph and I are just now co-founders, dogsbodies, strategists and hard workers. Should work a treat in 2021.

Before I leave office, though, I thought it might be appropriate, as CEO, to set down my own, rather more unreliable and certainly more truthful reflections on 2020.

January

My favourite Christmas present was a fancy pair of red culottes and high heels to match. Couldn't wait to wear them. January was quiet on the social front as my husband was working in China on and off. He came back from one flight with a bit of a sniffle.

Being a complete hypochondriac he took himself off for tests but the doctors found nothing untoward. To be honest, on reflection, I'm not sure they knew what they might have been looking for. A few days later I myself took to my bed for three days, which is mightily unusual. China closed and we spent the next couple of weeks both working from home. What a novelty.

Sadly, as we never went out, the culottes remained in tissue paper. Heels unworn.

February

My eldest, a girl, turned 18. I am very proud (the other CEO missives all talked about being proud of something so I don't see why I should be modest) to have raised a healthy, sardonic, independent feminist.

I have to say I was a little concerned about her choice of theme for her 18th birthday party - Pimps & Hoes - but as teenagers of both genders were represented in each group, I guess it didn't really matter too much.

Thankfully, I wasn't required to attend in costume. Actually, I wasn't allowed to attend at all. So culottes never got an outing there either.

Her choice of balloons was more problematic than the party theme. No pink hearts for her, what she chose was a large series of gold letters. Which spelt out "Happy F*&$ing Birthday". They adorned one wall and everyone took the opportunity to have their photo taken in front of them, for SnapChat, presumably.

Except that these very same photos then made a reappearance when everyone there had to submit a photo for the end of school year book. Must have taken the editor ages to select photos which showed the pupil but not the whole phrase, which was a bit of a waste of time really when you only had to put two or three together to see the whole thing.

Still, it's not as if the year book were the only thing they had to remember their last year of school by. There were A level exams, graduation ceremonies, prize givings, last day of school parties ..... Or, wait, were all of those rituals cancelled this year? Remind me. Shit show.

March: A celebration and the flood

The first omen that something really was amiss came in March. Sidley Austin hosted a celebration for the Reignite Academy to mark our first eighteen months of making an impact for women in law. The rain was biblical. It bucketed down in heavy droplets from morning till midnight. (I have since heard that Prince Harry has urged us all to imagine being individual raindrops as this will help tackle climate change. Mmm. This is as lost on me now as it would have been then ...)

Anyway, back to March. It rained. A lot. It was a wonder anyone turned up to our event, particularly since half the attendees were sent by Google maps to the wrong address.

And amongst those who did make it, there was general confusion about whether we were still allowed to kiss and hug or should be doing some strange elbow thing. (Funnily enough, the elbow thing still hasn't really taken off ... wonder why).

(Look how brave/stupid we all are standing so close together ... this may have been the last time I saw Alice and Tanja in person).

Summer Blurrrrrrrring

Every day, every week, every month was pretty much like the last.

Clapping, cooking, cleaning and queuing

We acquired new habits. Some easier than others. Clapping for carers is up there as one of the easy ones. Nice gesture but did rather pale into insignificance when the Government announced they were going to start charging NHS workers for parking .... or something like that.

Queuing was another easy one. It was sunny, we Brits like a queue, it gave us something to talk about and for many of us was a good excuse to spend more than the allotted 5 minutes out of the house and away from the family. What's not to like.

Cooking two or three meals a day seven days a week? Cleaning our own houses? Not so appealing.

And don't get me started on home schooling. (To be fair, I never personally did get started on home schooling but that's purely because of the age of my kids - 18 and 15 - any my extremely laid back attitude - it's their education not mine - which I'm sure I wouldn't have if they were 7 and 9).

However, I know teachers who were trying to educate vulnerable children and children of key workers at the same time as delivering home schooling and let me tell you they deserve a medal. Rethink. Who wants a bloody medal. They deserve a break, a pay rise, plenty of more resources and an education department that thinks ahead, makes contingency plans and gives everyone fair warning of what's to come.

Fat chance.

False dawns and new inequalities

We all got a bit giddy, early in the summer, when suddenly "working from home" was no longer frowned upon. Far from it. It was the new new thing.

"Long term flexible work options could be a game changer for women" was typical of the euphoric, optimistic headline we began to see everywhere. For about thirty minutes. Until it dawned on even the leader writers that the women working from home were also the ones doing the home schooling, cleaning, cooking, queuing and organising the clapping.

A colleague at work put it simply:

We thought we'd won equality. All that happened is we'd outsourced our roles in the home. And now we're back there again.

Her words prompted me to write this piece, which proved immensely popular: It's coming home: the fight for equality is in houses not offices.

The Treasury to the Rescue

Back in April, in the face of unprecedented uncertainty, the Treasury swiftly introduced a furlough scheme. I have to tell you it was a lifeline for us. It meant that we could put off worrying about whether the business had a future, keep people employed and concentrate on keeping the show on the road.

This pandemic was not something you could have planned for and I do think it would be churlish to criticise the actions taken regarding furlough in those first few weeks and months.

After that? I recognise these issues are complex but surely allowing firms that pay partners or directors upwards of ￡500,000 to put junior or admin staff on furlough is a bit daft? And what about the myriad of freelancers who work in the gig economy or in the events, hospitality and entertainment industries.

The sound engineers, stage hands, makeup artists, set designers, choreographers, writers, all those people in the creative sector who do so much to make our cultural lives what they are. Oh no, wait, it's going to be fine because they'll all be able to retrain to work in cyber security

New uniforms

Clapping, cleaning staying at home and playing teacher require a whole new uniform. Tracksuit bottoms and trainers mostly. Even the die-hard refusnik fashion editors gave in and told us all exactly what trackpants we could safely wear from home. Naturally, this list included a pair of cashmere pants (￡125) and a pair of white jogging bottoms. Great for dog walking.

I managed to cobble my own wardrobe together but sadly, you guessed it, no space for red culottes. Although by this time it was about 80 degrees in the shade and shorts were fast taking over from sweatpants.

Flip Flops

I do like a nice segue.

Segue: noun. An uninterruped transition from one piece of music or scene to another.

Sadly, the only segueing being done here is from memories of 80 degree heat to images of a particular type of summer footwear. Because I'm not talking about the type of flip flops made by Havaiana, I'm talking about the flip flopping in policy and direction around how to behave. Uninterrupted transition it certainly was not.

• GCSEs in England to go ahead. Actually, scrap that, they won't
• We have world beating algorithm to sort our grading. // Sorry, a mutant virus has attacked our algorithm.
• Eat out to help out. // Get back into your kitchens you stupid, thoughtless, greedy imbeciles, what do you think you're doing socialising!
• Go back to the office or get ready for your P45. // Out! Out! Everybody out!
• Borders open. Spain's beaches open to tourists. Pack your bags, hop on a flight. // What? You flew here? For how long? What were you thinking. Two weeks quarantine for you when you get home.

Something that really did matter

Black lives. The killing of George Floyd, at the hands of police, prompted a wave of soul searching about racism and inequality in our society. In one very welcome development, there was a sudden revelation that by lumping everyone who isn't white into one category - "BAME" - organisations hide a myriad of unpleasant and uncomfortable truths.

Like this: Only 11 of the Big Four Equity partners are black. Out of 3,000.

Cue a flurry of activity, which typically involved following at least one of these three pieces of advice:

1. Sign a pledge or a charter or, even better, both. (And make sure you shout about it on your website). Be quick and you can claim to be one of the first in your industry to have signed it. (This may distract from your total lack of black people in any levels of seniority).
2. Set a target. This will enable you to explain that these things take time and, don't worry, by 2023 everything will look a lot different. (Note to the reader - if performance is anything like achieving targets previously set for gender diversity by 2020, prepare to be a tad disappointed when 2023 rolls around.)
3. Develop a Race Action Plan. And as per 1. make sure you communicate it.

There. Job done.

Or maybe not. In my view these action plans will fail because they have not begun with an honest examination of the real questions.

Such as why are we here? Why do we have so few black people at entry level, and why do they leave before they reach senior levels.

"Be honest about the way in which organisations currently work and how that perpetuates inequalities even in the presence of good intentions."

This quote is by Professor David Wilkins in this webinar by Wilkins and his brother Tim, advocating a different approach. It's long and it's worth the watch.

Quit with the symbols, symbolism and finger pointing

Whilst I'm on the subject, I think we can be sure it's time to end the symbolism and finger pointing. My two favourite examples during the summer came from the Post Office and Legal and General but to be fair to them, they are the only two I happened to really notice at the time.

Legal and General (an all white executive board last time I looked) "warned FTSE 100 Boards over a lack of racial diversity."

And better still, the Royal Mail marked Black History Month by painting post boxes black. Four of them.

I'm not claiming to be any better and to have a deeper understanding than any of the people coming up with these plans. I'm a white woman. When the black lives matter movement erupted I said and wrote nothing. I didn't feel I had a right or sufficient knowledge.

And then my daughter (you remember, the sardonic feminist with the bad taste in party themes) pulled me up and berated me.

You have a voice. The worst thing you can do is say nothing. Just say something.

Being just a little scared of my daughter, I did I was told and when it came to Black History Month I shared a few of the books that I've loved which have informed my own views and understanding.

I also spent time just listening to black people talk about their experiences. Listening is way under-rated.

And whilst I am sceptical of those race action plans it does definitely feel as though organisations have got the message and are starting to take matters of racial inequality seriously. Let's hope for more change there.

The Infiltration of Puppies

The other, albeit less serious, change to happen over the summer was that pretty much everyone got a puppy. I was no exception. And whilst this observation is totally accurate, it's also an opportunity for the regular photo of the puppy. He's grown. They do.

Autumn ... it's all over

We all breathed a sigh of relief. Schools went back, students went to university, pubs and restaurants opened their doors (I managed to wear the red culottes once), hairdressers and beauticians got to work addressing the months of neglect. A few things had changed, admittedly.

We were all regularly wearing masks and stood a good 2 metres apart. The elbow thing hadn't taken off so we did this funny pretend air kiss when we met people. But at least we were meeting people.

And yet .... we knew it couldn't last.

I can't remember the detail and neither does it bear thinking about but cases began to rise again - enough for some people to be calling for a lockdown again and school closures for a couple of weeks in October.

Contingency Planning

October, people. There were warning signs.

So, the Government swung into action and began contingency planning. Two big themes. Christmas and Schools. Scenarios were plotted and there was a clear communication about what would happen in a best case, medium case and worst case scenario.

Best case, obviously, we'd all be able to rattle around the country kissing and hugging for five days over Christmas, and schools would all definitely stay open for all year groups. Clear, easy to understand, easy to communicate. So they did. We got the message. Loud and clear. 5 days. Schools will stay open at all costs.

Worst case, if cases began to rise by x or hospital admissions reached y or intensive care capacity fell to z, then we'd all have to pitch in and do our bit to contain the virus again .... At Christmas, blah blah blah would happen and as far as schools were concerned ... for primary schools ewai hria firesi rnesiounreiosp, for senior schools ioepn uioepnur op and for exam year groups eiwnaoeinui aowpuroru.

Yep. You got it. No contingency planning, no communication until the VERY LAST MINUTE. Cue chaos. Incompetence on a grand scale. But it's OK because they GOT BREXIT done.

(Apart from rules for Financial Services, which constitutes a good 7% of the UK economy, compared to fishing which is less than 0.1%. Though to be fair, Financial Services is properly global and the thought of us being able to have any form or "sovereignty" or ability to set out own rules here is laughable. Maybe that's why they ignored it.)

And here we are

31st of December and it's feeling very much like 31st March. Except that instead of the days getting warmer and summer approaching, there is snow on the ground and winter has only just begun.

BUT. Thanks to all the amazing scientists who must have been working incredibly hard, we have at least two vaccines ready to roll out. And they are being rolled out. My 82 year old parents had their first jabs a couple of weeks ago and I'm so very very grateful.

Everyone is also so grateful to the people working in the NHS - part of the reason the hospitals are full is because they are keeping more people alive and because of their hard work and dedication. We're also grateful to the teachers and people working in schools who frankly deserve a lot more from this department of education and secretary of state.

We're also grateful to the street cleaners, dustbin men, delivery drivers, shopkeepers, farmers and the like who are literally helping to keep our lives going. And the entertainers - broadcasters, writers, musicians, actors - who have somehow kept our cultural lives in tact. (My lockdown would have been a lot poorer without BBC Radio 6 and in particular Craig Charles funk and soul show).

Oh my goodness, that was long. I'm going to stop now. As for 2021:

I'll be (re)reading: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles - Count sentenced to house arrest for a good thirty years or more. Makes a few months lockdown pale into insignificance. It's beautiful, witty and a very good read.

I'll be listening to: The Year of Living Danishly by Helen Russell looking for some inspiration about how to keep my chin up for the next few months.

I'll be watching: I have no idea actually. Looking for inspiration. Definitely NOT Bridgerton which is such a load of old tosh that I'm not even going to make it a link. Watched half of the first episode and there wasn't a single witty, ironic or intelligent line in it. Any suggestions welcome.

Oh, and if you're wondering, my Christmas presents this year included a nice warm cardigan and a new pair of trainers. I can see both coming in very useful.

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