Minnow thought back to his induction.
‘Any task which can be conducted competently after an alcoholic drink is not work,’ Gerald had thundered. ‘It is a hobby, and we, ladies and gentlemen, are here to work.’ A few faces had dropped but you got used to it. The Red Lion’s cellar was still there of an evening.
When Minnow had first been drafted into Gerald’s department he’d quaked. Nobody could quite tell him what the Cabinet Support Team actually did, and Gerald didn’t seem like the kind of chap who’d tolerate people not knowing what they were for. He’d wondered briefly if he was part of some unwritten quota scheme for mongrels with a touch of the tar brush about them, but that was just fallout from the sort of playground nastiness that had turned him into a geek in the first place. Gerald only had time for competence. And now, on his third new government intake, Minnow reckoned he was up to the challenge. Apparently, a combination of psychology and computer science hadn’t been as pointless a degree as he’d feared.
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