The Complete Yes Minister by Paul Hawthorne Nigel Eddington Page B

time I was tired of explaining and I said so. So Frank asked Bernard to explain why I was double booked, Bernard said no one had told him about Newcastle, I asked Frank why he hadn’t told Bernard, Frank asked me why
I
hadn’t told Bernard, and I pointed out that I couldn’t remember everything.
    ‘I shall go to Swansea,’ I said.
    ‘Is that a decision, Minister?’ asked Bernard.
    ‘That’s final,’ I said.
    Frank then played his trump card. ‘The PM expects you to go to Newcastle,’ he said. Why hadn’t he said this till now, stupid man? I asked if he was sure. He nodded.
    ‘Bernard, I think I’d better go to Newcastle,’ I said.
    ‘Is that a decision?’ asked Frank.
    ‘Yes, that’s final,’ I said. ‘And now I’m going home.’
    ‘Is
that
a decision?’ asked Sir Humphrey. I wasn’t sure whether or not he was asking for clarification or sending me up. I still find him completely baffling. Anyway, he continued: ‘Minister, I think you’ve made the wrong decision, if I may say so. Your visit to Swansea is in the programme, it’s been announced, you can’t really get out of it.’
    This was becoming impossible. They all seem to expect me to be in two places at once. I told them to find some way of getting me from Swansea to Newcastle – train, car, helicopter, I didn’t care how – and I would fulfil both engagements. ‘And now,’ I announced, ‘I’m going home – that’s final!’
    ‘Finally final?’ asked Bernard.
    His intentions are equally obscure.
    As I left, Bernard gave Roy, my driver, four red boxes and asked me to be sure to do them tonight because of all the Committee papers for tomorrow and letters that have to go off before the weekend.
    ‘And if you’re a good boy,’ said Frank in a rather poor imitation of Bernard’s accent, ‘your nanny will give you a sweetie.’
    I really don’t have to put up with all this aggravation from Frank. I’m stuck with these damn permanent officials, but Frank is only there at my express invitation. I may have to remind him of this, very soon.
    When I got home Annie was packing. ‘Leaving me at last?’ I enquired jovially. She reminded me that it is our anniversary tomorrow and we have arranged to go to Paris.
    I was appalled!
    I tried to explain to her about the trips to Swansea and Newcastle. She feels that she doesn’t want to spend her anniversary in Swansea and Newcastle, particularly not at a lunch for Municipal Treasurers at the Vehicle Licensing Centre. I can see her point. She told me to cancel my meetings, I said I couldn’t, so she said she’d go to Paris without me.
    So I phoned Bernard. I told him it was my wife’s wedding anniversary – Annie said, ‘yours too’ – and mine too. Bernard made some silly joke about a coincidence. I told him I was going to Paris tomorrow, instead, and that it was final and that I knew I’d said it was final before but now this was really final – I told him he’d have to sort everything out. Then
he
talked for three minutes and when I rang off I was still going to Swansea and Newcastle tomorrow.
    Those civil servants can talk you in or out of anything. I just don’t seem to know my own mind any more.
    Annie and I fumed in silence for a while, and finally I asked her the really important question of the day: had she seen me on my TV interview – (I’d been in London, she’d been down in the constituency).
    ‘I saw someone who looked like you.’
    I asked her what that was supposed to mean. She didn’t answer.
    ‘Frank said that I’m just a Civil Service mouthpiece,’ I muttered resentfully.
    Annie said, ‘Yes.’
    I was shocked. ‘You mean . . . you agree?’
    ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You could have hired an actor to say it all for you. He’d have said it better. And while you’re at it, why not just sign your letters with a rubber stamp or get an Assistant Secretary to sign them – they write them anyway.’
    I tried to remain dignified. ‘Assistant