【Interlude】S01E00.5 ……
【沉浸式阅读体验：冰枫阁】【畅销网络小说：曼文小说网】【Interlude】 S01E00.5 Cyril’s Diary and Meranda (19-21 January 1980)
Saturday, 19 January 1980 | Piico, London | Overcast and cold, with a thin st
A Saturday ought to have been a of wele quiet.
However, just past eight, the doorbell rang.
A ssenger frothe et Office handed a sealed nila envelope, the flap staed with the spicuous crest of his departnt.
I ope. A transfer order. The w was cise, effit, and carried an uiohority:
''''Mr Cyril Astley is hereby teorarily seded to the Preparatory Unit of the Departnt of Synergy Coordination (DSC), to assist iablishnt of its frawork and initial operations. Effective iediately. Rep to: Mr A. dish.''''
The Departnt of Synergy Coordination.
The na had been whispered along the corridors of Whitehall for a day now, the newborn of a hung parliant''''s prose, with a na as awkward as an acadec thesis. And I, a young n who had only retly clied to the rank of Principal on the Civil Service □□, was being drafted directly into its core preparatory unit, rep directly to hi
The legends about hiwere already legion ang junior civil servants. Not because of his distinguished surhough that was certainly a topic of versation—but because of the dizzying pace of his ast and the stories that followed hi how, in a Departnt of Energy budget review, he had reversed the entire course of a project with a single, devastatingly logical randu how, during a thorny inter-departntal coordination, he had pelled several Per Secretaries, far his senior, to cede with grudging respect; and that ever-present air of calprecision, as if he could see through everything.
And, of course, the talk of how he was ''''burnishing his silver spoon''''. There were always those who sourly suggested his rise was owed to his birth, while selectively ign that every step he took lanted on the irrefutable bedroerit. I knew he was not fond of his title; frowhat I''''d gathered, it had sothing to do with the invisible ostracishe''''d entered in his early years on at of it. In Whitehall, a silver spoon bee a burden if you do not polish it into gold yourself. He, evidently, uood this well, and had fed it into a on.
During a brief rotation at the Treasury, I had the good fortuo work for a short ti in a subordinate se of his tea I had observed hichairiings froa distan several occasions: quiet, sharp, with not a superfluous word.
In fact, it erhaps even earlier, at Balliol, when I was still an undergraduate, that I first witnessed his calibre. He st have been a Treasury official then, reviewing education spending, visiting the college for an inforl sultation, a hearing on the education budget. A sll secret: it was listening in on that session that finally vinced to sit the Civil Service exanations.
But respect is ohing; current feeling was re akin to trepidation. Seded to build the frawork of airely new departnt? The responsibility far exceeded current grade.
But the order read, ''''Effective iediately''''.
So ch for the weekend. Ti to pad report for duty.
Saturday, 19 January 1980 | Piico, London | Overcast and cold, with a thin st
A Saturday ought to have been a of wele quiet.
However, just past eight, the doorbell rang.
A ssenger frothe et Office handed a sealed nila envelope, the flap staed with the spicuous crest of his departnt.
I ope. A transfer order. The w was cise, effit, and carried an uiohority:
''''Mr Cyril Astley is hereby teorarily seded to the Preparatory Unit of the Departnt of Synergy Coordination (DSC), to assist iablishnt of its frawork and initial operations. Effective iediately. Rep to: Mr A. dish.''''
The Departnt of Synergy Coordination.
The na had been whispered along the corridors of Whitehall for a day now, the newborn of a hung parliant''''s prose, with a na as awkward as an acadec thesis. And I, a young n who had only retly clied to the rank of Principal on the Civil Service □□, was being drafted directly into its core preparatory unit, rep directly to hi
The legends about hiwere already legion ang junior civil servants. Not because of his distinguished surhough that was certainly a topic of versation—but because of the dizzying pace of his ast and the stories that followed hi how, in a Departnt of Energy budget review, he had reversed the entire course of a project with a single, devastatingly logical randu how, during a thorny inter-departntal coordination, he had pelled several Per Secretaries, far his senior, to cede with grudging respect; and that ever-present air of calprecision, as if he could see through everything.
And, of course, the talk of how he was ''''burnishing his silver spoon''''. There were always those who sourly suggested his rise was owed to his birth, while selectively ign that every step he took lanted on the irrefutable bedroerit. I knew he was not fond of his title; frowhat I''''d gathered, it had sothing to do with the invisible ostracishe''''d entered in his early years on at of it. In Whitehall, a silver spoon bee a burden if you do not polish it into gold yourself. He, evidently, uood this well, and had fed it into a on.
During a brief rotation at the Treasury, I had the good fortuo work for a short ti in a subordinate se of his tea I had observed hichairiings froa distan several occasions: quiet, sharp, with not a superfluous word.
In fact, it erhaps even earlier, at Balliol, when I was still an undergraduate, that I first witnessed his calibre. He st have been a Treasury official then, reviewing education spending, visiting the college for an inforl sultation, a hearing on the education budget. A sll secret: it was listening in on that session that finally vinced to sit the Civil Service exanations.
But respect is ohing; current feeling was re akin to trepidation. Seded to build the frawork of airely new departnt? The responsibility far exceeded current grade.
But the order read, ''''Effective iediately''''.
So ch for the weekend. Ti to pad report for duty.