27/6 Fragments

You people of the Past - you brave, intrepid explorers - I must give you some idea of your Future History. Here's how it goes, according to me, based on facts compiled by fellow conspirator Waterboatman:

We are living in an age of excellence. The French had La Belle Epoch, and we've got this. Excellence is the keyword, a major philosophy, a popular movement, political dynamite and the secret ingredient in all motivational therapy. Excellence sells. Excellence breeds excellence.

There have been immeasurable advancements, not only in science and technology, but in all areas of life. Our athletes are some of the finest in the world. Rapidly expanding organisations are run with the tightly wound efficiency of tiny watches. Our viruses are deadly, but our doctors are miracle-workers. We have the best criminals and we have the best detectives. More on them later.

But the reverse side to excellence, as every advocate of excellence will tell you, is all besides. There can be no excellence without the full gamut of ability that runs from Pretty Good to Useless. This is where most of us fall, including your jealous, jaded storyteller. I did not inherit my father's agile, pneumatic fingers.

He had incredibly agile fingers. They moved like millipede legs.

Here is another page of my father's diary:

"Today I arrived at work at 11am. Due to a 'crisis' (they were short-staffed, I believe) the training instructor was unable to start with us at the usual time. I say 'us' - but this message was delivered to the other trainees, and since I have been fast-tracked through, it arguably did not apply to me. Naturally, the matter came up.

"'Traffic?'

"I stood my ground: if none of the trainees were supposed to be in before 11, who would remember that I, and I alone, was the exception? It was a fire safety issue. What if there were a bomb? I could be left inside the burning building, trapped in a lift, pinned beneath a collapsed light fitting.

"I was rebuffed on two points. Firstly, with all the reporters coming in and out of the building all the time, any roll call after a fire alarm is inevitably a useless gesture. We've thrown out the clipboard. Secondly, it has been noticed that I frequently arrive an hour or so before I need to be there anyway. All I could mutter was, 'Nevertheless.' Evidently, I have some work to do before I have the qualities of a barrister.

"Other issues are troubling me. My expensive light grey suit is apparently not suitable for wearing in court. Neither is my white silk tie with the magenta underbelly. Clothing must be not only smart, but dark. What of my black shirt then? Again, no. Clothing must be dark, except where shirts are concerned. Shirts must be of a vague, indecisive pastel colour. Sunglasses? Such defiance would not be tolerated."