Colin has been desperate for volunteers, any volunteers. How difficult should it be to find individuals who could read and write English, count to one hundred and have a basic knowledge of how to use a computer? Some of the people who had come forward could barely locate the on/off button, let alone read the instructions he gave out.
This whole proposal of Sir Percy's was ridiculous. Never mind the absurd legislation he had proposed, but the idea of then distorting facts to support it was even more far-fetched. The things you had to do to earn a living. He knew it had been a bad idea to accept the position on offer at the time. 'Chief coordinator of policy planning and strategy' indeed. Might as well call the fork-lift driver 'Director of Transport'.
But his mother had been so pleased for him, he just could not let her down again. It was bad enough when he announced he was a republican. His mother had fainted under her framed portrait of the Queen Mother ("saintly woman"), shattering the prized Silver Jubilee china teacup and saucer she had in her hands at the time. It took her quite some effort to recover from that bombshell. Heaven forbid if she found out about his match-making attempts on a dating website. Probably just as well his mother could barely cope with using a remote control to change channels on the TV. The Internet, or in fact the world beyond Sir Trevor MacDonald (her hero, even though he was black - "but he sounds so British") was totally alien to her.
Colin was quite sure he could commit a gruesome crime and still have his mother's forgiveness provided the deed received positive coverage in the Daily Mail. Was he really her son? It did seem improbable, and more than once the thought crossed his mind about having been adopted, but the uncanny likeness was there: the frizzy red hair, the same shaped ears, slightly square with pointy earlobes, and the peculiar birthmark at the bottom of their necks, in the hollow of the throat, that looked like a map of the isle of Wight.
Colin's mother (Enid) was proud of hers, felt that it asserted her Britishness. Colin felt that he could have shaved his hair off, pierced his nose and worn a sign saying 'I am the anti-Christ' - the birthmark was still the only thing ex-girlfriends - not that there were many - ever remembered about him. He had even looked into getting laser surgery to have it removed, but the cost was prohibitive for his meagre wages. "One day, one day..." he mused.
So he wore turtlenecks to cover it. What the eye doesn't see... his inner self reckoned. Not that matters improved much.
This whole proposal of Sir Percy's was ridiculous. Never mind the absurd legislation he had proposed, but the idea of then distorting facts to support it was even more far-fetched. The things you had to do to earn a living. He knew it had been a bad idea to accept the position on offer at the time. 'Chief coordinator of policy planning and strategy' indeed. Might as well call the fork-lift driver 'Director of Transport'.
But his mother had been so pleased for him, he just could not let her down again. It was bad enough when he announced he was a republican. His mother had fainted under her framed portrait of the Queen Mother ("saintly woman"), shattering the prized Silver Jubilee china teacup and saucer she had in her hands at the time. It took her quite some effort to recover from that bombshell. Heaven forbid if she found out about his match-making attempts on a dating website. Probably just as well his mother could barely cope with using a remote control to change channels on the TV. The Internet, or in fact the world beyond Sir Trevor MacDonald (her hero, even though he was black - "but he sounds so British") was totally alien to her.
Colin was quite sure he could commit a gruesome crime and still have his mother's forgiveness provided the deed received positive coverage in the Daily Mail. Was he really her son? It did seem improbable, and more than once the thought crossed his mind about having been adopted, but the uncanny likeness was there: the frizzy red hair, the same shaped ears, slightly square with pointy earlobes, and the peculiar birthmark at the bottom of their necks, in the hollow of the throat, that looked like a map of the isle of Wight.
Colin's mother (Enid) was proud of hers, felt that it asserted her Britishness. Colin felt that he could have shaved his hair off, pierced his nose and worn a sign saying 'I am the anti-Christ' - the birthmark was still the only thing ex-girlfriends - not that there were many - ever remembered about him. He had even looked into getting laser surgery to have it removed, but the cost was prohibitive for his meagre wages. "One day, one day..." he mused.
So he wore turtlenecks to cover it. What the eye doesn't see... his inner self reckoned. Not that matters improved much.