The Bunglerati

The scene is a poorly lit café somewhere in the back streets of a large city. The café has only two customers, two men sitting at a table in the corner of the room. One man is known only as Smith, the other is Sir Keir Starmer, UK Prime Minister.

Smith gazes around the café before speaking in a hushed voice – “your security team is outside, but we are quite alone here and may speak freely?”

“Of course,” says Sir Keir, adjusting his spectacles with a characteristic gesture.

“Very well. Before the general election you met one of my colleagues. He explained who we are. He also outlined our interest in your career, which until then was quite satisfactory.”

“Yes, I remember.” Sir Keir fiddles again with his spectacles. He seems nervous.

“As you know, Sir Keir, we are the Bunglerati, the real power behind global affairs. We are an ancient order and we advance by what is crudely termed failing upwards. By ensuring that projects, plans, developments do not quite go according to plan, we ensure, with infinitely fine calculation that they are taken out of our hands. As a result, our future members are promoted out of mere mechanical activities and the technicians remain where they are most valuable. Such is the philosophy behind the success of the Bunglerati.”

“Yes of course, I understand,” Sir Keir says.

“There is of course,” Smith goes on, “a great deal of subtle calculation in every one of our apparent failures, an absolute necessity to read the current game with superfine judgement, to calculate the correct level and necessary adjustments of what is commonly but erroneously referred to as responsibility.”

“Responsibility which is never mine,” Sir Keir interjects.

“Quite, responsibility which is never yours.” Smith strokes his chin for a moment.

“I make sure of that every time,” Sir Keir adds.

“Indeed you do, every single time.” Smith stirs his coffee then adds “there have two problems here, Sir Keir. We of the Bunglerati presumed you would foresee and avoid them both.”

“Problems?”

“You seem puzzled,” Smith says.

“I am.”

“Yes, you would be.” Smith rises and glances at his watch. “We may be in touch again, Sir Keir and we may not. You are a very busy man.”

“Yes I am – very busy.”

“Indeed you are.” Smith pulls on his gloves and leaves the café.

Source: https://akhaart.blogspot.com/2024/12/the-bunglerati.html