【Interlude】S01E00.5 ……
【书友力荐作品：皓月阁】【感人至深的故事：半抹文学网】Frothe Diary of Charles Hyde
Monday, 21 January 1980.
Ho at last. This I wanted a strong cup of tea. Now, I want a whisky.
Absurdity. That is the clusion of the day.
The cerehe oaths, the royal wax seals… all of it like a play rehearsed to death. The acte, but not a word of the script.
But the true absurdity was yet to e.
Victor oelephone is dish through the door.
An absurd tautology, an absurd protocol, an absurd victor.
Viy ''''Observer'''' friend. The n who, in that tired voice over the line, prophesied I would be iersed in ''''the art of discretion''''.
Is, in fact, Alistair dish. My Per Secretary. My Ag Per Secretary.
Ag. A truly fitting title for this Observer, this ster of the perf arts. His ag is sily subli.
I should have known. The precise phrasing, the obsession with procedure, the distance which I now see was entirely deliberate.
I was fooled. That is not the worst of it.
I was thhly and pletely fooled by a n I had taken for an intellectual equal, a n with whoI thought I could share a laugh frothe spectator''''s box at this circus. That is the worst of it.
I thought I had found a kindred spirit; I find instead he is a foxhound.
dish. Lord Alistair dish. A hat sounds as if it has walked straight out of a Victorian novel.
The day before yesterday, I was oelephone like a buffoohusiastically running through process of elination for hi frothe Treasury down to the lancholic cod. Ahe daable Victor, sily listened oher end, enjoying a farce to which he already khe ending.
He knew all along the PM would throw into this gilded cage, and that he would be the zookeeper charged with shutting the door and tang .
Today, I have gained a profound uanding of the essence of the word ''''Tautology''''.
It is not rely a cept in logic. It is a living, breathing, walking eodint of the Civil Service Code. Machiavelli in a Savile Row suit.
He is not a guardian of bureaucracy; he is bureaucraate, a self-repairing, precision instrunt desigo trip others up on their path.
That nonsense about "protocol is the safeguard of red tape, aape is the basis of protocol"… it sounds so noble, so exquisitely clever. He beautifies his surveilland pre-etion of as an observer''''s duty, as a service.
"Minister and is Civil Service writ?" It sounds like subssion, but in truth, it is the drawing of a border.
He says the departnt''''s ssion is ''''Subtle trol''''. Hot.
He is already trolling . With his precise procedures, his faultless logic, his cal arrogant face.
And then, the whiteboard. My one, sll, specific request. A spae to scribble freely, to think chaotically. And there it was, already on his daable draft schedule, specified down to ''''installation to be pleted by 14:00''''.
Checkte. Before I had evehe board, he had not only anticipated ve but had already written the nutes of the eting where I would ke it.
Very well, Charlie Foxy. You are now in a gilded cage, and your keeper has eveocked it with your favourite toy and thoughtfully included the instruanual.
The''''s play.
A fox… does not sit quietly in its cage.
Since you have prepared a focal point and a stage for , you hardly bla this fox for a little irovisation in the spotlight.
Just you wait, Victor. Or should I say, Alistair dish.
The ga has only just begun.
If this is to be the Titanic, I shall at least decide the a which we et the iceberg.
Monday, 21 January 1980.
Ho at last. This I wanted a strong cup of tea. Now, I want a whisky.
Absurdity. That is the clusion of the day.
The cerehe oaths, the royal wax seals… all of it like a play rehearsed to death. The acte, but not a word of the script.
But the true absurdity was yet to e.
Victor oelephone is dish through the door.
An absurd tautology, an absurd protocol, an absurd victor.
Viy ''''Observer'''' friend. The n who, in that tired voice over the line, prophesied I would be iersed in ''''the art of discretion''''.
Is, in fact, Alistair dish. My Per Secretary. My Ag Per Secretary.
Ag. A truly fitting title for this Observer, this ster of the perf arts. His ag is sily subli.
I should have known. The precise phrasing, the obsession with procedure, the distance which I now see was entirely deliberate.
I was fooled. That is not the worst of it.
I was thhly and pletely fooled by a n I had taken for an intellectual equal, a n with whoI thought I could share a laugh frothe spectator''''s box at this circus. That is the worst of it.
I thought I had found a kindred spirit; I find instead he is a foxhound.
dish. Lord Alistair dish. A hat sounds as if it has walked straight out of a Victorian novel.
The day before yesterday, I was oelephone like a buffoohusiastically running through process of elination for hi frothe Treasury down to the lancholic cod. Ahe daable Victor, sily listened oher end, enjoying a farce to which he already khe ending.
He knew all along the PM would throw into this gilded cage, and that he would be the zookeeper charged with shutting the door and tang .
Today, I have gained a profound uanding of the essence of the word ''''Tautology''''.
It is not rely a cept in logic. It is a living, breathing, walking eodint of the Civil Service Code. Machiavelli in a Savile Row suit.
He is not a guardian of bureaucracy; he is bureaucraate, a self-repairing, precision instrunt desigo trip others up on their path.
That nonsense about "protocol is the safeguard of red tape, aape is the basis of protocol"… it sounds so noble, so exquisitely clever. He beautifies his surveilland pre-etion of as an observer''''s duty, as a service.
"Minister and is Civil Service writ?" It sounds like subssion, but in truth, it is the drawing of a border.
He says the departnt''''s ssion is ''''Subtle trol''''. Hot.
He is already trolling . With his precise procedures, his faultless logic, his cal arrogant face.
And then, the whiteboard. My one, sll, specific request. A spae to scribble freely, to think chaotically. And there it was, already on his daable draft schedule, specified down to ''''installation to be pleted by 14:00''''.
Checkte. Before I had evehe board, he had not only anticipated ve but had already written the nutes of the eting where I would ke it.
Very well, Charlie Foxy. You are now in a gilded cage, and your keeper has eveocked it with your favourite toy and thoughtfully included the instruanual.
The''''s play.
A fox… does not sit quietly in its cage.
Since you have prepared a focal point and a stage for , you hardly bla this fox for a little irovisation in the spotlight.
Just you wait, Victor. Or should I say, Alistair dish.
The ga has only just begun.
If this is to be the Titanic, I shall at least decide the a which we et the iceberg.