There's nothing more likely to bring out the inner feminist than two days in a boardroom with five men, three of whom are partners, two who never say please or thank you to the receptionist who belts across the road to bring you your triple strong, extra hot, skinny latte or arrange for your luncheon sandwiches. Or who scatter their mint papers all over the table, leave their cups and plates and treat the only woman in the room as if she's been grabbed from the typing pool! Yep, yippee kay ey! I've been in a meeting for two days solid. Locked in a room with a bunch of blokes who talk too long over the unimportant things and play lip service to the essential. Now I have another hat to wear . . . Business Succession Coordinator! I'd better get a pay rise this July! I blame their mother's who obviously never taught them to push in a chair upon departure. It's an uncomfortable feeling knowing that each thinks about sex every fifteen minutes apparently! I want to put wasabe in their mint slices and toothpaste in their Oreos, that'll fix the boardroom bananas!