《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

14、[Interlude] S01E01.5 Cyril Astley’s Diary and Memos (22-24 January 1980) Thurs

　　Thursday, 24th January, 1980 | Pimlico, London | Overcast with rain
　　I overslept.
　　I successfully, and voluntarily, made up for the hour I was forced to wake up early the day before yesterday.
　　Last night, after a hot bath, I lay in bed intending to continue organising my thoughts. Instead, I fell asleep with the notebook on my chest. When I woke up this morning, the dark blue notebook was on the floor, open to a page of yesterday's meeting notes, surrounded by the dozen or so sheets of paper I had used to sort my notes. I stared at the dense script on the floor for a moment before realising the alarm had long since gone off.
　　Six minutes past eight.
　　I almost jumped out of bed.
　　I washed hastily, grabbed a shirt, threw on a waistcoat and jacket, and then my overcoat. I didn't even have time to tie my tie properly before I rushed out the door. Breakfast was out of the question, but I did manage to buy a paper from the newsstand on the corner. The front page was still about the tug-of-war between the Prime Minister and the unions. No news about the DSC.
　　Thank God for the 24 bus. The red double-decker appeared just as I got to the stop, saving me a few minutes of waiting and the subsequent debate of whether to wait another ten minutes or turn around and walk to Whitehall, all the while regretting not taking the tube.
　　Surprisingly, the journey was smooth, and I was in the office before twenty to nine.
　　Come to think of it, I didn't really need to rush. The standard working hours are nine o'clock. And if we were on flexitime, arriving before ten wouldn't even be late—the DSC hasn't yet specified whether we are using flexitime or not. It's just that I've gotten used to starting at eight or even earlier these days, and Sir is always in early, so there are always things to arrange. The others in the department also normally arrive around eight.
　　So when I walked into the office, slightly out of breath, I was greeted by the gazes of my colleagues.
　　Eve told me the Minister had been looking for me earlier and, seeing my empty desk, had asked her to tell me to go straight to his office when I got back. I suppose the Minister thought I was with Sir or doing some other work. It seems I was the last to arrive today.
　　"Cyril, your tie," she finally couldn't help but laugh, which made Joshua laugh too.
　　I looked down. My tie was still hanging around my neck, not tied at all. I thanked her awkwardly and tied it.
　　After a quick sort of the In-tray and filing a few documents into my own folder, I went into the Minister's office.
　　After a few pleasantries, the Minister asked about the progress of the DLO invitation letters. I handed him the post-meeting briefing memo with the draft invitation template attached.
　　"Weak wording," the Minister commented. But in the end, he just wrote "Authorised for execution" on the memo and said he would make an appearance at the first liaison officer meeting. He then signed the report for Number 10—the draft I had helped him with yesterday, which I had polished with a bit more rhetoric before typing it up, also attached to the memo for his signature. The Minister made no changes. The series of signatures came quickly, as if he didn't want to give himself a chance to change his mind. He pushed the signed documents back to me. "Execute it, Cyril. Since this is what we can do for now, let's do it well."
　　"Yes, Minister," I replied, taking the documents and asking if there was anything else he needed.
　　The Minister rose and walked to the whiteboard, his fingers flicking through the markers in the tray, making a soft clatter. The board had been wiped clean, but I still remembered the black and red interweaving of yesterday. The Minister probably remembered it too.
　　"Order me some more markers in different colours. Black and red are not enough. I need…" the Minister paused, "I need more colours to mark this map." I made a note in my notebook.
　　He turned around. "And get those DLO invitations out as soon as possible. I want to see who they send."
　　"The invitations will be sent out this afternoon via the internal mail," I nodded.
　　The Minister nodded and waved me away.
　　Back in the private office, I immediately set to work on sending out the invitations. Eve had already compiled a list of the departmental mail addresses, and Joshua was checking the telex numbers. Our small team, though short-handed, was working together more and more smoothly. I hope the new members who arrive later will integrate quickly.
　　"Cyril," Eve handed me a list, "the Treasury has two contact addresses, one for the Permanent Secretary's office and one for the Departmental Coordination Unit. Which one should we send it to?"
　　A good question. Sending it to the wrong one could cause delays; sending it to the right one might not get it to the right person.
　　"Send it to both," I decided. "The original to the Permanent Secretary, with a copy to the Coordination Unit, with a covering note saying 'Copied for assurance of timely delivery'."
　　Around three in the afternoon, all the invitations were ready. I took them to the internal post room, filled out the distribution register, ensuring that each one would be delivered to its target department by tomorrow morning.
　　The old clerk in the post room, a white-haired gentleman with half-frame glasses, whistled as he took the stack of envelopes, glancing at the department name on the letterhead. "Department of Synergy Coordination?" he pushed his glasses up. "New department? You're sending letters to the whole of Whitehall, lad." He weighed the thick stack of envelopes in his hand.
　　"Establishing channels of communication," I explained in as neutral a tone as possible. "A necessity for inter-departmental coordination work."
　　"Inter-departmental coordination…" he repeated, his voice tinged with amusement. "Good luck to you. You'll need it."
　　We'll have it, I thought to myself.