An Itinerant Mind

Dept of I, I & R A

The Department of Introspection, Inspiration and Remedial Actions

Mr. Dustin put his head inside the vast furnace.

His thoughtful “Hmmm!” vibrated and echoed, slightly muffled.

Pulling his head back, he turned to Mr. Smeems.

“Well,” he began, “it's just as I suspected really. The fire has all but gone out. A classic catalogue of errors. It wasn't properly banked, inadequate supplies of fuel, and worst of all burning in too many places at once.” Mr. Dustin shook his head at the sorry state of the world in general, and the furnace in particular. “Small wonder it's near enough gone out.”

“I see.” said Mr. Smeems, a tall thin man in a bowler hat and suit that screamed officialdom in polite and accentless English.

“Marvellous thing these introspections.” He observed.

“Yes they are Mr. Smeems. A great way to identify and rectify problems, and kick the lucky individual's creativity back into life.”

Mr. Smeems looked down at Mr. Dustin, but purely because he was quite a bit taller than his colleague. Mr. Dustin was wearing the uniform of an engineer, his blue shirt and denim dungarees, both slightly, and properly, smeared with oil. In solidarity with Mr. Smeems, he also was wearing a bowler hat, though this too was lightly oiled.

“Will it take a lot to fix him?” Mr Smeems asked, in the tones of one who was trying to sound casual, but had in fact a vested interest in the answer.

Mr. Dustin sucked his teeth.

“You need to be careful doing that.” Smeems observed. “Or you'll have the Department of Cliches, Misappropriations and Stereotyping on your case.”

Mr. Dustin made a sound that though non verbal as such, communicated rather eloquently his opinion of the DCMS.

“They've been going bloody mad recently, generating a lot of hot air and playing silly beggars. Load of nonsense it is.”

“Quite so.” Said Mr. Smeems, who knew he himself owed more than a nod to “The Men From The Ministry.”

Mr. Dustin had lost interest in the conversation, and was once more examining the insides of the furnace.

“There's a bit smouldering over there,” He said over his shoulder. Then he turned and without asking took the clipboard from Mr. Smeems' unresisting hand.

“Hmmm! French poetry translation. Good grief! Been going on for years on and off.”

“See here.” Mr. Dustin tapped at the clipboard, and Mr. Smeems looked.

It flares up every so often, has a brief burst of flame, and then it all but goes out again. Could be great if it were ever finished.”

He thought for a moment.

“Let's order some more fuel, and put in some restraints.”

“Will something that simple work?” Mr Smeems seemed unconvinced.

“The whole system is too sloppy Mr. Smeems. What it needs is some organisation, and especially some constraints. Daft thing is, that's what the poet he's translating was really smart about, clever bloke that Queneau. Anyway, it's got piles of potential, all wasted because she's trying to do too much at once and getting non of it finished.”

“Yes. Yes, I see.” agreed Mr. Smeems.

“I'll get some restraints organised this afternoon, get a delivery of fuel arranged and we'll just run the poetry translation, and see how that goes.”

“Thank you Mr. Dustin.”

“Oh, very welcome Mr. Smeems. Let's see, a concerted effort and we could see this finished in a month.”

“A month?”

“Needs a definite finish by date Mr. Smeems. Let's say by January 17th, and see how that goes, come back then and take another look?”

Mr Smeems made some notes on his board.

“Agreed Mr. Dustin, We'll come back and see in a month's time.”

“No no Mr. Smeems.” Mr. Dustin was having second thoughts, “Now I think about it, we'd better pencil in some weekly checks. This is a long standing problem and needs a bit of care and attention to sort it out.”

“Just as you say Mr. Dustin, weekly checks it is.”