Filofax memories (1)

Filofax in the UK recently held a competition. Through a number of leading blogs, people were invited to share their Filofax memories for the chance to win a new Filofax. I entered two memories in the competition. Here is the first:

I was twenty, in my first job and eager to please and to learn. They sent me on a time management course, which I suppose is one kind of feedback.

On the course we were all handed brown leather Filofax binders, stuffed full of note paper, to-do sheets and page-per-day diary inserts and I remember wondering how I’d ever get into a job so important I’d need a whole page to record my appointments. I was at an age where, to quote They Might Be Giants, “If it wasn’t for disappointment, I wouldn’t have any appointments!”

But, as I say, I was keen to learn and I soaked in a lot of time management goodness over the two days. I found that no longer having to jot things on little bits of paper to lose at my leisure was rather liberating. I could be efficient and productive and organised. I could have it all in one place. I did not have to be a slave to organisation; it would be a slave to me.  All of this was possible because of the Filofax binder and the system it contained. As much as the keys to my first car, this binder was a token of becoming a proper adult.  

Over the months that followed, I realised that I had found a lifelong friend. This little brown binder would eventually be retired many years later, its rings slightly misaligned, its fastening press-stud capless and non-functioning, its priceless contents transferred to a new, sleek, black number that despite its great looks and smooth feel would never really feel like a friend the way old Browny did.

That first job launched me into a fulfilling career, and by the time I reached a job important enough to warrant the page-per-day inserts, someone else was keeping my diary for me.