The Bowler Hat Brigade

In the kitchen, I found 2 of my younger, and rather more talkative and more sociable of my Office colleagues, Harvey Dinsdale and Charles Cruddas, who were performing the same menial chore as myself, for some of the Parliamentary Secretaries who they served, on their own Sections.

My chum, Harvey Dinsdale inquired of me, mischievously, but good naturedly, "Well, David, old chap! How are you enjoying the first day, of your second 25 years of Civil Service, and as a fully fledged member, of The Bowler Hat Brigade?"

"Oh, pretty much the same, as my first 25 years of Civil Service, Dinners.

Nothing changes!

I'll tell you what, though, Dinners! That rather dishy PS I told you about, that rather sumptuous looking young slip of a girl on my Section, who started work here about 3 months ago, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, is a bit of a handful! What!

I tell you, Dinners, I have never known such a flighty and bossy little piece, in all of my 25 years of Civil Service, here!

And, I'll tell you something else, Dinners. I think she likes working here, in the Secretariat, and I really think that the fine little filly is going to stay the Course, and go the whole distance, until she flashes past the Finishing Post, and then goes into the Winners Enclosure, if you get my drift, when she picks up her State Pension, and her 'Golden Goodbye', from our wonderfully caring Government.

And, Dinners, I'll tell you something else, for nothing, that you won't go home and tell your Auntie Betty! I have a queasy little feeling, you know, that Miss Suzanne Forsythe, means to make my life an absolute misery, for the next 25 years!", I replied, in similar vein, and in what passed for comradely badinage, among the Civil Servants of the Whitehall Secretariat in which I worked, and what passed for jocularity, among The Bowler Hat Brigade.

My chum, Harvey Dinsdale, in picking up the thread of my equestrian theme, observed, somewhat pessimistically, rather than realistically, I hoped, "Hold your horses, David! But, if these swingeing Public Sector Pay cuts come to pass, and, if there is any truth at all, to the dreadful rumours I've been hearing, about the retirement age of Civil Servants, such as ourselves, having to be raised, to 75, or, heaven forefend, even 80, you will still be trudging around the Course, and shovelling up bucketfuls of manure, long after your flighty and bossy little filly has flashed past the Finishing Post, if you get MY drift, old chap!"

There was a few moments of reflective silence, between us, as we gathered the necessary tea and coffee items, with which to load our trays, but, before even 30 seconds had elapsed, my other chum, Charles Cruddas, as though any prolonged silence was uncomfortable, for him, and, that he had to say something, anything, just for the sake of breaking it, advised me, fatuously and pointlessly, "you are going to have to keep an eye, on THAT one, David!"

"Keep an EYE, on her!", I exclaimed, in helpless exasperation.

You know perfectly well, Cruddy, that I can keep all the eyes I want, on her, but it won't make the slightest bit of difference!

It won't do me the slightest bit of good, Cruddy!"

To which, my chum Dinners invited, cordially and empathetically, "join The Club, David! Join The Club!"

Then, at finally having prepared and loaded our refreshment trays, my 2 younger, and rather more talkative and more sociable of my Office colleagues, Dinners and Cruddy, slapped my back, in a bone jarring, but good natured, sympathetic, consolatory, and comradely fashion, and, in what passed as their (or anyone else's) gestures, of the only expressions of congratulation that I was likely to receive today, in celebration of my 40th birthday, and in recognition, of the completion of my first 25 years of service, as a Civil Servant in Her Majesty's Government, and, as a member, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

Upon returning to my Section, with the tea that I had made for my Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, and for the Section Head, who sat opposite her at Section Desk Number 1, Miss Suzanne Forsythe remarked, sarcastically, and over-dramatically, "OH! HERE, he is, Annabel! Unnworthy HASN'T gone to China, AFTER ALL, to pick fresh tea leaves!

Just where the Dickens, have you BEEN, for all of this time, Unnworthy? And DON'T, tell me any of your atrocious fibs!

I'll have none of your devious treachery, TODAY!

I am NOT, in the mood for it!

And I am NOT, going to tolerate it!

You had better come up with a plausible and acceptable excuse, for me, Unnworthy, or, I shall jolly well know the reason WHY!" , demanded my young Superior.

"Oh, I'm most terribly, terribly sorry, Ma'am, but, I had to wait, you see, I had to wait, for Dinners and Cruddy, to finish making tea and coffee in the kitchen, first, before I could even get so much as a look-in, Ma'am. I had to--------". "AH! AH!! NOW, we are getting somewhere! NOW, we come to the TRUTH, of the matter!

OH! I might have known! Dinsdale and Cruddas!

SEE, Annabel? Don't I keep on telling you, Annabel, that Unnworthy is the most frightful, of lazy, bone idle, time wasting, and malingering gossips?

He could out-talk a street corner full of Fish Wives!

If there was an Olympic Event, for idle chit chat and mindless tittle tattle, Unnworthy, here, Annabel, would win the Gold Medal! I am perfectly convinced of it!", my Superior confidently asserted, to Miss Annabel Carstairs, who was a quite attractive, sort of 'housewifey' brunette, in her late 30's (I estimated), and who was the Parliamentary Secretary, and Section Head, who occupied (as did all Section Heads) Section Desk Number 1.

Turning her wrathful and penetrating gaze upon me, once again, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, continued her caustic and scathing diatribe against me.

"'Dinners', and 'Cruddy', Unnworthy? 'Dinners', and 'Cruddy'?.

I am perfectly certain, that I have never heard such puerile and infantile nonsense, and such childish and immature gibberish, in my entire life!

You are 40 years of age, today, Unnworthy! You are 40 years of age!!

Don't you think that it is about time, Unnworthy, that you GREW UP?

'Dinners', and 'Cruddy', Unnworthy? 'Dinners', and 'Cruddy'?

I don't want to hear, about your gormless, pathetic, loser, clownish, moronic friends, Unnworthy!

'Dinners' and 'Cruddy', indeed!

Do you imagine, Unnworthy, for one single, solitary second that I want to hear anything, anything at all, about your ridiculous and useless associates? Well, Unnworthy, do you? Do you?"

"No, Ma'am. I -----" "SHUT UP, Unnworthy!

And, Unnworthy, don't you DARE, come crawling to me, with your lame, pathetic, and transparently false excuses, either!

I don't want to hear them!

EVER!

Now, Unnworthy, am I starting to get through, to those thick, senseless grey cells, of yours? Am I making myself perfectly clear, to you? Please tell me, Unnworthy, if I am failing to make myself quite clear, to you".

"Yes Ma'am, quite clear, Ma'am. Quite clear, I'm very, very sorry, Ma'am", I apologized (rather abjectly, it has to be said), to my Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary, at Section Desk Number 2.

"HAHAHAHA! OH! REALLY, Suzanne! You are going to do me a most mortifying mischief, one of these days! I am sure of it!", giggled her friend and Office colleague, Miss Annabel Carstairs, indulgently, and in great amusement, who sat opposite her young protégé, and who was the Parliamentary Secretary, and also the Section Head, who sat at Section Desk Number 1.

The Section Head, Miss Annabel Carstairs, who had quite abandoned her futile, though, only half hearted attempt, at suppressing her building mirth, at the punishing and humiliating tongue lashing that was being delivered by her young protégé, upon the bowed head of her underling, soothed her young friend and Office colleague, in a tone of playful, and mock sympathy, "OH! Suzanne! I know, I know! These wretched Civil Servants, can be far more trouble than they are worth! But, don't forget, Suzanne, my dear girl, that, if Unnworthy's irritating inadequacies become simply TOO tiresome, for you, you know, darling, that you can always 'pull the plug', on his miserable Career".

As though taking great comfort and encouragement, and as though feeling even more emboldened and empowered, by the approving and assuring words of her friend and Office colleague, the Section Head, Miss Annabel Carstairs, my young Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, once again, turned the full and withering force, of her wrathful, vengeful, and penetrating blue eyed gaze, directly upon me.

I found it incredibly stressful, and awfully unnerving, to look into the blue eyed, seemingly knowing, direct and unflinching gaze, of Miss Suzanne Forsythe.

Miss Suzanne Forsythe, returned my stare, implacably, balefully, maliciously, disdainfully, and superciliously, and, such was the air of powerful authority, and such was the unnerving, disturbing, awesome, almost, presence, of my young Superior, a presence, that seemed to pulse, and to radiate out from her, in palpable, pulsating, and debilitating waves, that, I actually trembled, before her, and I felt my legs weaken and threaten to give way, and to buckle under me, and, scathing and withering scorn dripped, vituperatively, from her pink and wet tongue, as she mercilessly 'lashed' me with it, as she derided me, and as she belittled me, very much to the amusement, of her Office colleagues, her fellow Parliamentary Secretaries.

"Do you know, Unnworthy, I am so, so tired, so very, very tired, of having to look at your silly, stupid, ugly, ghastly little pasty white face, every day!

Don't you EVER, EVER, see any sunshine, Unnworthy?", inquired my young Superior, rhetorically.

Then, as though highly indignant, and sorely affronted, and as though taking high umbrage, at such an appalling imposition, of having to look at my "silly, stupid, ugly, ghastly little pasty white face, every day!", and deciding to do something about it, my Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary, who sat at Section Desk Number 2, pointed a beautifully manicured forefinger underneath the 2 Section Desks, at which she, and her friend and Office colleague, Miss Annabel Carstairs, the Parliamentary Secretary and Section Head, sat, opposite each other, and, raising her voice, to me, she ordered me, peremptorily, and authoritatively, and, if my hearing wasn't playing tricks on me, I was sure, that I had detected the faintest, shrill hint of hysteria, in her tone, as though she was struggling to contain the excitement, and as though she was struggling to contain the sheer thrill, of having such power, and of having such authority, at her young command.

And as though, being confident in the highly gratifying knowledge, that she had the 'licence', to use, and to abuse her power and authority, just exactly as she pleased, and, to freely indulge herself, at any time she wished, in such exhilarating power trips.

"FEET! FEET, Unnworthy! FEET!

Come on, MISTER Unnworthy!

MOVE yourself, I tell you!

NOW!

NOW, I SAID!

Get yourself underneath our DESKS!

Come on, Unnworthy, GET MOVING!

Heaven HELP you, Unnworthy, if I have to tell you, AGAIN!

You KNOW, where we want you, Unnworthy!

And, what FOR!

Unnworthy! You are a miserable, useless, pathetic excuse, for a MAN!"

Thoroughly cowed, fearful and oppressed, and mercilessly dominated, by the overbearing and powerful personality, and by the disturbing, awesome, almost, presence of my young Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, I obeyed her imperious and belittling command, and, without a word (and, I was sure, that I could not have spoken then, in any case, as the dreadfully familiar, awful, choking sensation, and the sore and suffocating thickness, had painfully seized my throat in it's terrible grip, and, it was a sensation that, from past experience I knew all too well, meant that I was about to start crying),I did as my Superior had ordered me to, and, I laid down on my back, underneath Parliamentary Secretary Desks Numbers 1 and 2.

But, if every cloud has a silver lining, this one, in obeying the humiliating command of my Superior, was that, I no longer, at least for the moment, had to look at the eyes, or had to see, the galling expressions of hilarity, on the tittering, chuckling, giggling, laughing, and mocking faces of the Parliamentary Secretaries, who, were not only highly amused, and so splendidly entertained, by Miss Suzanne Forsythe's crushing humiliation, of me, but that, the taunting and tormenting sounds of who's mirth, merely served to exacerbate my dreadful predicament, and merely served, to encourage my Superior to indulge herself, even further, in the highly gratifying pursuits of her decidedly cruel streak.

Then, once I had positioned myself, flat on my back, underneath Parliamentary Secretary Desks Numbers 1 and 2, exactly as my Superior had instructed, and, as I had disconsolately stared upward, it was with heart felt dismay, that I saw 2 pairs of tan hosed, black, Office pump shod feet, hover, for a moment, like helicopters above their target area, directly above my upturned face.

I first had a few moments to register, the worn and grimy leather soles, and the multitude of minor scratches and scrapes, and the creases, on the black leather uppers of the 2 pairs of Office pumps, that evidenced their long use, and that told of their well worn and regular service, before they started to slowly descend towards my upturned face, and, I watched, as the 2 pairs of black, Office pumps were slowly prised, by the toe of their other pumps, from the tan hosed heels of my 2 Superiors, and, I watched, as the 2 pairs of black, Office pumps, were precariously dangled, and were swung up and down, by the seemingly well practised manipulations of the tan hosed tips of my 2 Superiors' toes, so that I could see inside of the precariously dangling shoes, and I could see, in great detail, at such close range, their dark and stained insoles, which further told of their long use and regular service, by their owners.

Then, after a few moments, and as I watched, inevitably, the 2 pairs of black, Office pumps fell from the tips of the tan hosed toes of my 2 Superiors, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, and Miss Annabel Carstairs, who were the Parliamentary Secretaries, who occupied Section Desks Numbers 1 and 2.

The 2 pairs of black, Office pumps, just exactly as they were meant to, by my 2 Superiors, landed on my upturned face, like laser guided stink bombs, launched from the weapon pods of attack helicopters, before tumbling off, and coming to rest on the carpet about my head, underneath Section Desks Numbers 1 and 2.

Then, as I stared upward, I watched, as the 2 pairs of the tan hosed feet of my 2 Superiors, freshly liberated, from the restrictive and inhibiting confines of their black leather prisons, were lowered, slowly and gently, until they came to rest, and settled upon either side of my upturned face.

As I laid flat on my back, underneath Section Desks Numbers 1 and 2, my Superiors, the 2 Parliamentary Secretaries, 18 year old Miss Suzanne Forsythe, and Miss Annabel Carstairs, the Section Head, complacently rested their freshly released tan hosed feet, upon either side of my upturned face, just as if, they were perfectly entitled to do so, and just as if, it was some kind of Government perk, and, they used my upturned face, just as if, it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do so, and, just as if, my face was readily available, to them, upon command, to be used as their luxuriously comfortable and comforting, and convenient footstool, and my 2 Superiors chatted pleasantly and companionably together, and, as I continued to stare upward, I watched, as their tan hosed toes flexed, and splayed, and scrunched, as though at play, and as though enjoying, and making the most of their taste of freedom, and of their respite, from the restrictive and inhibiting confines, of their black, Office pumps.

I found the odours, of the warm and moist, tan hosed feet of the 2 Parliamentary Secretaries, though distinctly different, equally repugnant, and decidedly unpleasant.

I found them very unpleasant, indeed.

I found them shockingly unpleasant, in fact.

It was not long, before I was quite overcome, by a sort of strong, Stilton, or blue cheesy smell, emanating from the tan hosed feet, of Miss Suzanne Forsythe.

And, it was not long, either, before I was quite overwhelmed, by the choking, acidic fumes, of a sort of acrid, tart and tangy, sour vinegary, and offensively pungent, scent, that radiated from the tan hosed feet, of Miss Annabel Carstairs, the Section Head, in almost palpable, noxious pulses, like the pernicious radio waves, of 2 dying and malignant quasars.

This, was a decidedly unsavoury experience, and, not for the first time, I found myself quite amazed, that, the dark and the tan hosed feet of the Parliamentary Secretaries, who were, predominantly (though there certainly were plenty of 'plain Jane's', it has to be said!), such attractive, and sometimes, even stunningly beautiful ladies, could produce such an appalling, horrible, and thoroughly obnoxious stink!

This was especially so, when my Superiors, whether intentionally or absent minded, cupped my nose, in their clutching, grabbing, gripping, stinky, dark or tan hosed toes.

And, given that the voices of my 2 Superiors seemed deliberately modulated, for my 'benefit', so that I could hear their conversation, I had not the slightest of difficulty, in hearing Miss Suzanne Forsythe opine of me, earnestly, "upon my word! I swear, Annabel, that THIS, is all that Unnworthy is good for!".

But, Miss Annabel Carstairs, the Section Head, begged to differ, and she contested her young protégé's confident assertion. "Oh, I don't know about that, Suzanne. He DOES, make a jolly good cup of tea!"

It was for 30 minutes, or so, that I lay supine, underneath Section Desks Numbers 1 and 2, and, underneath the warm and moist, and playing and probing, tan hosed, stinky feet of my 2 Superiors, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, and Miss Annabel Carstairs, as they luxuriated, in the sensual, almost sexual, enjoyment, of rubbing the soles of their tan hosed feet, as though by way of a relaxing, yet stimulating, and satisfying and gratifying, foot massage, all over my upturned face, to their pleasure and contentment, and, my 2 Superiors played with my face, as though it was some kind of foot toy, or, perhaps, a novel and pleasing alternative, to 'worry beads', with which to help divert their minds, from the daily stresses of their highly important and very demanding work.

And so, after about 30 minutes, or so, my 2 Superiors, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, and Miss Annabel Carstairs, the Parliamentary Secretaries who occupied Section Desks Numbers 1 and 2, at last 'passed me on', to their nearest Office colleagues, who were the Parliamentary Secretaries who sat next to them, and, who occupied Section Desks Numbers 3 and 4.

No wonder, I could not help but cry, at the soul crushing miseries of such cruel and malicious subjugation!

No wonder, I could not keep my tears at bay, at the mortifying shame of my humiliating predicament!

I could not prevent my bitter tears, of shame, self pity, mortification, humiliation, bitter resentment, and great unhappiness, from springing to my eyes, even though I KNEW, that my tears of acute distress, upon the Parliamentary Secretaries seeing them, only served, to increase their amusement, greatly, and to enhance their pleasure, considerably, and to magnify their gratification, immeasurably.