Yes men have no sagacity,
Don’t hire them for their brains.
Frightened of audacity
Don’t go against the grain.
They hide away reality
And let you take the strain.
When truth takes your ability
Your life goes down the drain
Steve Dixie 1968 “Live in the trench” album.
CHAPTER 80 JUGGLING
Tom Bellamy got to work as usual, said hi to Hall Pycroft and Pete Steiler, turned on his computer, checked his e-mails, and said. “Do you suppose these sunshades are really making the Earth too cold?”
“The Norwegians think so,” said Hall.
“That's right.” agreed Pete “There's some Scandawegian shipping company wants to sue the Yanks cos one of their ships hit an ice berg.”
“No” said Hall. “That's not it. They reckon their harbours got too much ice in it and it’s costing too much to break it up. Or was that the Russians?”
“Dunno,” said Tom. “By the way, I'm on a course for the next two days.”
“Oh yeah?”
“What course?” asked Pete.
“Cant remember. Uh,” He found the calling notice in his trays. “Conceptual Decision Making And Leadership In The Field Of Acquisition Management.”
“You what?” laughed Hall.
“It's the bloody juggling one,” said Pete. “You've got to juggle balls to get the left side of your brain joined up to your elbow or your arse or something.”
“I knew it would be bollocks,” said Tom. “These things always are.”
“But you get to keep the juggling balls,” said Pete. “And it's two days away from here.”
“Oh fuck it. See you at lunch time.” Tom put on his coat and walked off down the open plan office. He smiled at the new bird in the Registry and got the gate code from a list inside one of the cupboards. He ought to find out her name. Except she looked a bit like Maudie, the bitch he was divorcing.
At the end of the foyer the doors registered the presence of his pass and opened. Above the windy trees were white clouds and patches of blue. Cold but nice, the sort of day to go for a long walk over Salisbury Plain. Bloody courses.
He tapped the gate code into one of the pedestrian gates and nipped across the public road to the other site. Then through another electronic door into another foyer, past a café and into the training wing corridor. He looked for the receptionist to tell him where to go. But she had been downsized, or rationalised or maybe quit for more money, and been replaced by a piece of paper saying
“Conceptual Decision Making Leadership And Improved Knowledge Management Techniques In The field Of Acquisition Management, Room DA34.”
Was that what the course was called? Probably.
Investors in people policies meant the MOD had to budget for courses, and people had to be found to go on them. But it was two days away from routine. Meet some new faces. Strangers from other departments at Carbonec, even people from other MOD sites.
Tom Bellamy saw a few half familiar faces and noted with relief that some of the women were very easy on the eyes. That would help with the boredom. Someone to look at and fantasise over, if it was really boring.
The instructor or lecturer or deliverer or whatever term was fashionable at the moment was easy on the eye as well. She was short, with short very tidy black hair and very tight black slacks and long sleeved top. She obviously worked hard at her slim body. Put a lot of effort into looking good. Perhaps she had low self esteem because of her large nose.
“Good morning everyone. Now I expect you all know each other?” she beamed.
“No,” said a Major
“None from my
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