As I read this I couldn't help thinking about the many colleagues I'd put in a box, different boxes, sometimes deserved shameful boxes, and if I were to meet them today, I have an idea they'd be dancing to the beat of another drum, and I would skilfully use that beat to frame the narrative that then enters my head.

The shameful, shameless ones, might have improved in my estimation, but I'd still have tucked away in my mind, the people I knew them to be.

Maybe I'm talking forgiveness here, because as we age, we don't have enough life left to be anything more than accepting. There's only one box for that!