Air Marshal Stoush, as acting CDF, is summoned to brief the prime-minister and carefully organises some detailed logistic sustainment arrangements in order to do so.
Late one week recently, Barney (my boss, Air Marshal Barney Stoush, the VCDF), had set aside most of the day to lead some brainstorming on joint capability development.
As secretary to the gathering I sat up the back busily scribbling down the ideas as they spilled forth thick and fast.
Up the front, standing on a chair, the Chief-of-Staff to the VCDF was kept just as busy organising the serried ranks of suggestions on a very large whiteboard.
Our hive of cerebral activity was interrupted by the ADC bringing news of a summons from the Prime Minister.
Barney adjourned the meeting, being Acting CDF while the Chief was away overseas with the Minister sorting out Western European recalcitrance over matters in the Hindu Kush.
‘You’d better come along’, Barney directed, as we strode back to the power suite to grab our headwear.
We were subsequently joined in the lift by the Secretary, a recipient of the same summons, who was sharing Barney’s car in keeping with his campaign targeting departmental extravagance and waste. Absent-mindedly I noticed that he was carrying a large pilot’s briefcase instead of his usual stylish leather valise.
Now I generally tag along with the VCDF to Parliament House for anything to do with protocol, ceremony or parliamentary oversight, but this was the first time in the case of a prime-ministerial summons.
My curiosity was somewhat piqued and I eagerly anticipated the possibility of some first-degree exposure to the Sun King and his thoughts.
On our arrival in the M-G-8 ante-room we were met by a young staffer who greeted us politely and explained that the PM would be ready for us shortly.
Barney and the Secretary sat down and traded chit chat about this and that.
I took the opportunity to retreat out of immediate earshot, as all good PSOs do, and spent 40 minutes or so checking out the artworks spread around the extensive walls.
Time passed. Another young adviser emerged and advised us that the PM was still unfortunately tied up but would be finished shortly.
Idly I wondered if it was a telephone call from the American president or some other world leader.
More time passed. Yet another youngster appeared to advise further issues requiring the PM’s immediate attention had unfortunately arisen, but that these would be quickly fixed and that the PM was sorry for any delay.
Barney, a veteran of numerous Senate estimates hearings in his previous job, was not at all perturbed by the wait or the prospect of not much to do for a while.
He stretched out a bit in his chair as the chat around the coffee table began to peter out.
The Secretary, a diplomat by trade and with several challenging third-world postings under his belt, appeared even more imperturbable and began to flip through various briefs.
After another half hour or so the Secretary paused from his reading and opened his briefcase; producing a thermos and several disposable cups. ‘Coffee’, he enquired, before filling one for each of us.
Eventually, a different young staffer materialised, with further advice that the PM was nearly finished dealing with the urgent matter at hand and that we would soon get started.
Sometime during the next half an hour the Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade appeared, accompanied by a couple of minders.
Our Secretary poured more cups. Barney was by now deeply immersed in a voluminous brief on new ADF recruiting strategies.
Various others concentrated on their crackberries and iphones. More people from several departments and agencies kept arriving; our little group was herded closer together as the room filled and milled.
Presently, the gentle hum of activity was disturbed when the thermos ran dry.
Barney despatched me to Aussies, the building’s in-house café, to bring back more caffeine hits.
The walk down from the summit to the other end of the building, and towards the real world, was somewhat refreshing.
After my return with steaming refreshments for an increasingly crowded ante-room, another young adviser pushed through the growing throng with an update on our coming confab. ‘Not long now’, he counselled, before being lost to view in the swirling movement to and fro.
He looked vaguely familiar but, apart from his apparent youth, I could not be certain whether he was one of the earlier heralds or someone new.
Before long, probably under half an hour, Barney sent me back to Aussies for more supplies.
The rationing order this time was somewhat bigger, necessitating a scribbled list, so a lass from the DFAT party offered to help.
It was during our long, well-laden, walk back to the Ministerial Wing when revelation struck me. The reason Barney had brought me along was to organise the efficient logistics of long-term sustenance along military lines.
Not long afterwards, about another three quarters of an hour, Barney and the Secretary were able to brief the PM while I stayed outside and tidied away the mountainous pile of paper cups in our corner of the ante-room.
We were soon back at Russell Hill and again engrossed in planning the future ADF.
The next day, a Friday, Barney passed on two tickets for a play at the ANU Arts Centre.
Waiting for Godot, as I remarked to Pandora after the show, seemed quite a fitting end to my rarified experiences that week.