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The door of the conference room opens and we all rush out, crowding eagerly through the doorway as if propelled by the pressure of all the words in that room -- the echoes of arguments fill the room to bursting and beyond. Amazingly (no one said we had any sense) we're still talking as we leave, like steam from a kettle that has to shriek its escape. Booming one more bon mot about the design, insinuating one last slur on another's taste, issuing one last rebuttal -- who could resist?
I could. And so it was me to whom Nutcombe, our chief, turned to offer his own observations on the plan we've just put together. 'It'll do, lad, it'll do, however they scream that it could have been better. If only... There's always an if or a but, however you decide. But this plan of ours, yes, it'll do.'
'Yes sir, I think you're right', I said. Something of my real opinion must have filtered into my voice despite my great care; the chief barked with laughter and pulled me into his office. He put the kettle on the fire, then turned back and said in a low voice,
'Don't hold back. Which part would you go after with a sharp knife and a bottle of ink, if you were here alone some dark night and had nothing better to do but improve all the documents without a committee to hold you back?'
'No fear of that', I said, sitting down in the guest chair. 'I hardly have time to sleep, much less come sneaking around the office at night to make unauthorized changes.'
'But--'
'But', I agreed, and explained how I would have gone about constructing a truly infallible publicity campaign, complete with diagrams on on wall detailing each prong of the programme (easily erased with the flick of a wand).
'I don't disagree', the old man said, handing me a cup of tea. It was a polite lie. 'Except--' and he scribbled all over my drawings and told me everything that wouldn't work or could be improved from my plan, finishing with a chuckle and a cheerful 'You'll learn.'
He shook his head, still chuckling, and asked with studied casualness, 'Still playing with that band of yours, eh?'
'Yes sir.'
'I don't say it's a bad idea, everyone has to make ends meet, and even though a ministry salary's better than it once was...'
'Yes sir', I agreed.
As if there was no connection at all, he added, 'It'll be Twiddle getting that promotion everyone's been talking about, which is the choice I'm sure you were expecting. You could hardly expect anything else, could you?'
'No sir', I said. True enough, but Twiddle is a -- shall we say she's very good at what she knows how to do, and leave it at that?
'Well, there you are then', he said, and waved me out. I thought I heard him muttering something about he'll learn under his breath as I left his office.
As for that, yes, I'll learn. Whether I learn that particular lesson, so neatly presented on a silver platter for my effortless digestion -- we shall see. Maybe. Maybe not. More later.
I could. And so it was me to whom Nutcombe, our chief, turned to offer his own observations on the plan we've just put together. 'It'll do, lad, it'll do, however they scream that it could have been better. If only... There's always an if or a but, however you decide. But this plan of ours, yes, it'll do.'
'Yes sir, I think you're right', I said. Something of my real opinion must have filtered into my voice despite my great care; the chief barked with laughter and pulled me into his office. He put the kettle on the fire, then turned back and said in a low voice,
'Don't hold back. Which part would you go after with a sharp knife and a bottle of ink, if you were here alone some dark night and had nothing better to do but improve all the documents without a committee to hold you back?'
'No fear of that', I said, sitting down in the guest chair. 'I hardly have time to sleep, much less come sneaking around the office at night to make unauthorized changes.'
'But--'
'But', I agreed, and explained how I would have gone about constructing a truly infallible publicity campaign, complete with diagrams on on wall detailing each prong of the programme (easily erased with the flick of a wand).
'I don't disagree', the old man said, handing me a cup of tea. It was a polite lie. 'Except--' and he scribbled all over my drawings and told me everything that wouldn't work or could be improved from my plan, finishing with a chuckle and a cheerful 'You'll learn.'
He shook his head, still chuckling, and asked with studied casualness, 'Still playing with that band of yours, eh?'
'Yes sir.'
'I don't say it's a bad idea, everyone has to make ends meet, and even though a ministry salary's better than it once was...'
'Yes sir', I agreed.
As if there was no connection at all, he added, 'It'll be Twiddle getting that promotion everyone's been talking about, which is the choice I'm sure you were expecting. You could hardly expect anything else, could you?'
'No sir', I said. True enough, but Twiddle is a -- shall we say she's very good at what she knows how to do, and leave it at that?
'Well, there you are then', he said, and waved me out. I thought I heard him muttering something about he'll learn under his breath as I left his office.
As for that, yes, I'll learn. Whether I learn that particular lesson, so neatly presented on a silver platter for my effortless digestion -- we shall see. Maybe. Maybe not. More later.
