《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

13、【Interlude】S01E02.5 Cyril's Diary and Memos (1980.1.28-31)

　　January 29th, 1980, Tuesday | London-Cornwall, Night Sleeper Train | Overcast, light mist
　　Today was busier than usual.
　　I was occupied with cross-referencing the list of local liaison officers, confirming travel and accommodation details, and making the final preparations for the Minister's trip to Cornwall.
　　As the Minister had an evening engagement, we had to take the night sleeper from Paddington to Penzance to ensure we would arrive at Newlyn Harbour before the fishermen's seminar began the next morning.
　　I packed the background materials on Cornwall, the two draft speeches, and the list of emergency contacts into the briefcase—the Minister wished to read them on the train—and double-checked every detail.
　　The DLO mechanism established at last week's IDISLM had received initial feedback from the various departments, which I had my assistant secretary summarise. After a final review, I took the file and knocked on Sir's office door.
　　He was still at his desk, several documents spread before him, the emerald ring on the fourth finger of his left hand glinting in the dim light.
　　After I had completed my oral briefing on the DLO feedback, Sir asked if I had any new observations regarding Cornwall.
　　I reported on the day's preparatory progress and mentioned that during a morning call with the local liaison, he had noted that the Tourist Board had had some "informal communications" with the County Council regarding the use of the harbour breakwater for the festival, though the specifics were unclear. I had thought this was just a routine update, but Sir tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening.
　　"Very good, Cyril." He picked up his fountain pen and, in the margin of a report beside him, wrote a few words. I wasn't sure what it meant, but my intuition told me it was not a random note.
　　In the evening, I boarded the night sleeper to Penzance with the Minister.
　　I first accompanied the Minister to his compartment and laid out the background materials from my briefcase.
　　It was late, but the Minister seemed to be in good spirits. He read through the documents while chatting with me about the history of Cornwall, all the way to a peculiar local dish called "Stargazy Pie."
　　"They poke the fish heads through the crust, as if they're gazing at the stars. Very imaginative, isn't it? A kind of poetry in despair," was the Minister's assessment.
　　I felt he was, in his own unique way, steeling himself against the coming pressure.
　　The night was exceptionally dark. I hope Cornwall is not colder than London tomorrow.