Once, when I ran a department, I had an office door that slammed shut. To keep it open, I wedged a piece of wood under it. Every couple of weeks one of my team would walk in and kick the wood away to close the door. They wanted a confidential chat.
In my head, I called these “Jonny Wilkinson discussions” because the door-closing reminded me of the former England rugby star’s elegant leg swing as he kicked for the posts.
Sometimes the Jonny Wilkinson talk was about an internal squabble. More often it was about a personal or family problem, of which there was a huge variety.
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