《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

28、[Interlude] S01E02.5 Charles Hyde's Diary

　　Charles Hyde's Diary
　　Wednesday, 30th January, 1980
　　An utterly absurd field trip.
　　In the morning, I spouted some nice empty words to those weather-beaten fishermen, promising investigations, reviews, coordination.
　　I avoided Brussels. I avoided my own powerlessness. I avoided the real problem of the Common Fisheries Policy.
　　I was actually there, on the ground, and yet I unconsciously played the part of a competent, hypocritical politician. How laughable.
　　John's question, "Can your sustainable future help me pay this loan?" was like a needle straight to my lung.
　　Yes, I cannot. I can only promise to make a phone call. Is that my limit? The limit of a Cabinet Minister?
　　In the afternoon, I tried to play at dialectics on the stage of the seafood festival. And then, a basket of cold seaweed woke me up.
　　A physical shock, a spiritual baptism. Humiliation.
　　I was a mess, like a drowned rat, frozen in that moment by the reporters' flashes. I can almost imagine the tabloid headlines tomorrow.
　　But the greatest absurdity was yet to come.
　　Director Lambert's face, a mask of post-disaster relief. His thanks. The coincidences.
　　The Department of the Environment's emergency safety inquiry. The county council's convenient way out.
　　This was no coincidence.
　　Alistair Cavendish. The man who claims his "duty is to the lawfully constituted government, not loyalty to a particular party." The man who precisely anticipated my need for a whiteboard and had it arranged in advance. The man who wrote "recommend declining or holding a meeting" in his memorandum.
　　He didn't get his hands dirty. He wasn't even directly involved.
　　My PR disaster became his tool for solving a problem. My embarrassment won him power.
　　Alistair Cavendish, my Acting Permanent Secretary, has given me an introductory lesson on the law of the Whitehall jungle.
　　I dialled that familiar number. Using his logic, I demanded my policy dividends.
　　I don't know if my ship is sailing towards an abyss, or towards a more complex but more real sea. But I know I can no longer be just a performer on the stage. I have to understand, to learn. To learn how that director backstage writes the script, how he pulls those fine strings.

　　Thursday, 31st January, 1980
　　I made the call. For John, and for myself. The bank gave no definite answer, but promised to reassess. A minuscule, yet real, step forward.
　　Alistair kept his promise. John's details and the bank's information were delivered this morning.
　　This is good.
　　He provides the tools, I use them. He builds the system, I… make the system work for me.
　　We seem to 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 know who is truly holding the rudder.