The secret diary of a Foreign Office civil servant
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Thursday 16 April
Wheels down on tarmac. Jump into a trusty black cab outside the airport; dump suitcase in flat; plants dead; fridge empty. Classic. Thankfully, I lunch with a lobbyist. Bowl into the King Charles Street quad, home to the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO), post-lunch – it feels good to be back at the Death Star. Familiar sight of Larry sneaking through the gate across from No 10 and the buzz of desk officers smoking, catching the last of the sun. Arrive at m
Wheels down on tarmac. Jump into a trusty black cab outside the airport; dump suitcase in flat; plants dead; fridge empty. Classic. Thankfully, I lunch with a lobbyist. Bowl into the King Charles Street quad, home to the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO), post-lunch – it feels good to be back at the Death Star. Familiar sight of Larry sneaking through the gate across from No 10 and the buzz of desk officers smoking, catching the last of the sun. Arrive at m
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