《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

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

　　Charles Hyde's Diary
　　January 30th, 1980, Wednesday
　　An absolutely absurd field trip.
　　This morning, I offered some fine-sounding platitudes to those weather-beaten fishermen, promising investigations, reviews, and coordination.
　　I avoided Brussels, avoided my own powerlessness, avoided the Common Fisheries Policy—the real problem.
　　I was right there, on the ground, yet I unconsciously played the part of a competent, hypocritical politician. It's laughable.
　　Old John the fisherman's question—"Can your sustainable future help me pay my bills?"—was like a spike driven straight into my lungs.
　　Yes, I can't. I can only promise to make a phone call. Is that my limit? The limit of a cabinet minister?
　　This afternoon, I tried to play with dialectics on the stage of the seafood festival, and then a basket of cold seaweed washed me awake.
　　A physical shock, a spiritual baptism. Humiliation.
　　I was a mess, a drowned rat, frozen in that moment by the reporters' flashes. I can already imagine tomorrow's tabloid headlines.
　　But the greatest absurdity was yet to come.
　　Tourist Director Lambert's post-disaster face, his "thanks," his "coincidence."
　　The Department of the Environment's urgent "safety inquiry," the County Council's "dignified way out."
　　It was no coincidence at all.
　　Alistair Cavendish. The man who claims his "duty is to the legally constituted government, not to any particular party." The man who precisely anticipated my need for a whiteboard and had it pre-arranged. The man whose memo recommended I "decline or hold a meeting."
　　He didn't step onto the field himself. He didn't even intervene directly.
　　My PR disaster became his problem-solving tool. My embarrassment won him power.
　　Alistair Cavendish, my Acting Permanent Secretary, has given me an introductory lesson in the law of the Whitehall jungle.
　　I dialled that familiar number and, using his own logic, demanded my policy outcome.
　　I don't know if my ship is sailing towards an abyss or into more complex, but more real, waters. But I know I can no longer be merely a performer on the stage. I have to understand, have to learn, how the director backstage writes the script, how he pulls those fine strings.
　　January 31st, 1980, Thursday
　　I made the call. For John, and for myself. The bank gave no firm commitment but promised to "re-evaluate." A minuscule, yet real, piece of progress.
　　Alistair kept his promise. The information on John and the bank was delivered first thing this morning.
　　That is good.
　　He provides the tools, I use them. He builds the system, and I... make the system work for me.
　　It seems we have reached a new understanding. He pursues the perfection of the system, while I pursue concrete results.
　　Perhaps this path is viable. Provided we both understand who is truly holding the reins.