《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

26、[Interlude] S01E02.5 Cyril Astley’s Diary and Memoranda (28-31 January 1980)

　　Wednesday, 30th January, 1980 | Pimlico, London | Windy
　　In the early morning, I knocked on the Minister's cabin door at the agreed time. The Minister had changed into a brown tweed jacket, looking more approachable. He was having his morning tea while reading the Cornish background materials I had given him earlier.
　　I wished him good morning, laid out the itinerary and the two draft speeches on the small table, and took out my notebook, ready to give the Minister a final round of analysis before the seminar.
　　"Relax, Cyril," the Minister said, putting down the file. "You look more nervous than I am. Worried I'll mess it up? Hmm?"
　　I explained that I was just ensuring all contingency plans were in place.
　　"Contingency plans?" he raised an eyebrow and made a joke, asking if I had prepared a media relations plan or written his resignation letter for him in advance.
　　We had, of course, prepared a media relations plan. It was necessary, regardless of the expected outcome.
　　The Minister's performance at the morning seminar exceeded my expectations. He didn't hide behind bureaucratic jargon but walked among the fishermen, letting them vent. He channelled their general anger into specific, solvable problems. When he said, "I cannot, John," that sincere admission, and the subsequent promise to "call the bank in my personal capacity," though uncertain in its effect, genuinely touched people.
　　But this powerful promise also carried the risk of ambiguity. A Cabinet Minister calling a bank in his personal capacity is in itself a huge pressure. This might be considered an overstep, a violation of some Whitehall conventions.
　　Before lunch, I made a brief oral report to the office in London by phone, as is the duty of a PPS.
　　I reported to Sir about the morning's situation: the Minister's communication with the fishermen was very successful, the atmosphere shifting from confrontational to constructive. The Minister had promised to initiate inter-departmental coordination on enforcement, pollution, and subsidy issues, and had also promised to personally plead with the bank for a fisherman on the brink of bankruptcy.
　　Sir did not comment directly on the Minister's promises, but simply reminded me: "Cyril, stay vigilant. The success of the morning could make the afternoon's seafood festival a much bigger tinderbox. The fishermen's expectations of the Minister are now completely different."
　　Then came lunch with the Minister. He was half talking to himself, half confiding in me, reflecting on his avoidance of the Brussels issue that morning. I affirmed the Minister's performance and offered some analysis, hoping to make him feel better. But it didn't seem to be very effective. The Minister seemed to have secretly decided something, which made me a little uneasy. I carefully reminded the Minister that the fishermen might have higher expectations for the afternoon's event.
　　In the afternoon, things did indeed go wrong.
　　The moment the Minister was doused with seaweed, I could even hear my own heart thumping violently in my chest. The chaos, the cameras, the flashes, the mixed cheers and jeers—it all happened so fast.
　　I rushed forward to shield the Minister from the media lenses, but it was of little use. The media had already got more than enough pictures. I took the Minister backstage, helped him clean up, and tried to calm him. The sudden emergency inquiry from the Department of the Environment, the coincidental early end to the seafood festival, Director Lambert's 'thanks'—it all shattered the surface appearances.
　　I urgently contacted the secretariat and reported the situation to Sir.
　　Sir was silent for a moment, then replied, "Cyril, ensure the Minister's safety. Make no comment. Return immediately. I will handle the media."
　　The journey back was much longer than the journey there. At Plymouth station, I got off to buy an evening paper and almost missed the train. If I had run a little slower, the Minister would probably have had to take the train back to London alone. A lesson learned: I should carry more small change in the future.
　　When the Minister asked me if I had reported the breakwater issue to Sir, I felt an unprecedented pressure. I could only answer truthfully. The Minister's silence after hearing my reply was heavier than any question. He seemed to have understood something, and I seemed to have understood something too.
　　Today's experience was far more profound than any document or memorandum.
　　I need to ensure my notebook records everything, every detail I can remember.