How the news was received.

It’s all very depressing.

Life as a civil servant is not the most exciting on the planet; we don’t get to wrassle alligators in the Everglades, we don’t trek across the hottest and driest of deserts and we don’t circumnavigate the globe in a teacup. We do tend to be dab-hands at filing and form-filling and some of us, the lucky ones, get to formulate and implement policy, blaming any disasters on our political masters.

So, when there’s a political crisis on the brew, or an election in the offing, or heaven help us, both at the same time, well it lends am little excitement to our dull lives and jaded palates.

This morning, when I heard that the Miniature Secretary of State had resigned and all was in flux, there was just the hint of anticipation. I believe I may even have stirred my coffee anticlockwise… that’s how exciting we thought it was going to be.

And then, and then mark you, I had to postpone a meeting because there was an all-staff summons from the Permanent Secretary, our very own Sir Humphrey. I’ve been in the civil service for what, 26 years now. Ministers come and go, be it in elections or reshuffles or whatever, but none in all that time has occasioned an announcement to staff from a Permanent Secretary; especially an announcement within an hour of the Secretary of State’s announcement, giving us but ten minutes’ notice.

Imagine the rush of adrenaline! I may have stirred my coffee again just to be sure. I forget in the emotion of it all.

An all-staff announcement from the Permanent Secretary on the day of the Secretary of State’s resignation: how exciting and how unprecedented! What could this betoken? What news were we being entrusted with, what sage comments and wry observations? Would we be entrusted with something of which we could not speak, pending an official announcement? I kid you not, there was almost a trail of wee as people trailed in their dozens to the second floor to hear the news.

I think we know what an anticlimax is, don’t we children? If not before, we do now.

As the assembled staff hushed, the Permanent Secretary spoke, “Can you all hear me?” No, not very well. “How about now?” Better. “Good”.

Oh, how tense.

“The Secretary of State announced her resignation this morning.” Yes, we know – go on…

“Those of us who worked with her closely thought she was really nice and that she made a real difference to the Department and its objectives!” – Eh?
“Yada, yada, yada, fluffy, yada, yada, nice, yada, wanted me to pass on, yada, yada”.

And that was it!

“You’ve all done very well”, to quote Young Mr Grace.

What a let down. I postponed a meeting for that. I am back to stirring my coffee clockwise. I might have a mint. Move along; nothing to see here.

How the news was received.

It’s all very depressing.

Life as a civil servant is not the most exciting on the planet; we don’t get to wrassle alligators in the Everglades, we don’t trek across the hottest and driest of deserts and we don’t circumnavigate the globe in a teacup. We do tend to be dab-hands at filing and form-filling and some of us, the lucky ones, get to formulate and implement policy, blaming any disasters on our political masters.

So, when there’s a political crisis on the brew, or an election in the offing, or heaven help us, both at the same time, well it lends am little excitement to our dull lives and jaded palates.

This morning, when I heard that the Miniature Secretary of State had resigned and all was in flux, there was just the hint of anticipation. I believe I may even have stirred my coffee anticlockwise… that’s how exciting we thought it was going to be.

And then, and then mark you, I had to postpone a meeting because there was an all-staff summons from the Permanent Secretary, our very own Sir Humphrey. I’ve been in the civil service for what, 26 years now. Ministers come and go, be it in elections or reshuffles or whatever, but none in all that time has occasioned an announcement to staff from a Permanent Secretary; especially an announcement within an hour of the Secretary of State’s announcement, giving us but ten minutes’ notice.

Imagine the rush of adrenaline! I may have stirred my coffee again just to be sure. I forget in the emotion of it all.

An all-staff announcement from the Permanent Secretary on the day of the Secretary of State’s resignation: how exciting and how unprecedented! What could this betoken? What news were we being entrusted with, what sage comments and wry observations? Would we be entrusted with something of which we could not speak, pending an official announcement? I kid you not, there was almost a trail of wee as people trailed in their dozens to the second floor to hear the news.

I think we know what an anticlimax is, don’t we children? If not before, we do now.

As the assembled staff hushed, the Permanent Secretary spoke, “Can you all hear me?” No, not very well. “How about now?” Better. “Good”.

Oh, how tense.

“The Secretary of State announced her resignation this morning.” Yes, we know – go on…

“Those of us who worked with her closely thought she was really nice and that she made a real difference to the Department and its objectives!” – Eh?
“Yada, yada, yada, fluffy, yada, yada, nice, yada, wanted me to pass on, yada, yada”.

And that was it!

“You’ve all done very well”, to quote Young Mr Grace.

What a let down. I postponed a meeting for that. I am back to stirring my coffee clockwise. I might have a mint. Move along; nothing to see here.