I worked part-time, very briefly, on a TV project about MI5 or MI6 (can’t remember which now), after The Heart of the Dragon aired in 1984.
I was playing only a peripheral secretarial role, typing up the script the way the producer wanted it: text on one side, time codes aligned on the other. This was a bit tricky in those early days of the computer as we know it today, as every time a change was made in the script, the alignment would go askew, so it took a bit of fiddly tweaking on the word processor. Fiddly, but nerdy distraction therapy for me, as such things take my mind off the horrible developments in life.
My other part-time job at the time was working at SBTC (Sino-British Trade Council, now CBBC / China Britain Business Council), which offered (then-)free advice to British businesses wanting to get into the Chinese market. They were partly sponsored by DTI (Department of Trade and Industry), so they were a quango (quasi NGO / part non-governmental organisation).
One day, the TV producer rang me to talk about the script. A couple of minutes into the call, the line went CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK. The producer asked, “Where are you?” I said, “At work.” He said, “OK, hang up and I’ll call you tonight at home.” (No, I didn’t give him my home phone number at that point as he had it already, and I wouldn’t, anyway, after the CLICK CLICK CLICK.)
I’d played a few minor roles at SBTC.
One of them was compiling their regular Trade Opportunities publication, which was just a list of Chinese establishments (mostly government departments at that stage) that wanted to go into partnerships of various kinds with foreign organisations, plus details of their products and how much investment they were looking for.
Another one was a stint as Information Officer, taking phone enquiries from British businesses wanting to go into the Chinese market. I was, therefore, on the phone most of the time, yet that CLICK CLICK CLICK episode never got repeated. No sensitive key words like MI5 or MI6 to prick up the tappers’ ears, I guess.
I’d originally thought, “That’s a bit stupid of the phone tappers, being so careless, giving themselves away like that.”
Forty years later (yes, my brain tends to catch the slow bus / train), it’s occurred to me that maybe it was the tapper’s way of telling us not to continue with the phone conversation — even though it was only a clerical matter about the script, nothing sensitive at all.
(London, 1985)
This blog post is an intriguing mix of personal anecdote, historical context, and quiet reflection, with an undercurrent of dry humor. The author’s recollection of working on a TV project about British intelligence, juxtaposed with her role at the Sino-British Trade Council, adds an interesting perspective on bureaucracy, communication, and Cold War-era sensitivities.
ReplyDeleteThe highlight of the piece is the mysterious *CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK* moment, which injects an element of suspense and paranoia—though the author treats it with a wry, almost bemused detachment. The shift from immediate suspicion ("That's a bit stupid of the phone tappers") to a more nuanced interpretation decades later is particularly compelling. It hints at how our understanding of past events can evolve with time and hindsight, even in the seemingly mundane moments of daily work.
The writing is clear, engaging, and subtly humorous. The phrase *"my brain tends to catch the slow bus/train”* is especially effective—it makes the realization feel personal and relatable while reinforcing the lighthearted tone. The blog also casually navigates through different work experiences, offering a glimpse into both the challenges of early word processing and the structure of trade relations with China during that period.
If anything, the post could expand slightly on the atmosphere of the time—was suspicion of surveillance common knowledge? Did her colleagues have similar experiences? A brief comparison to how modern digital surveillance differs might also add an extra layer of reflection.
Overall, this is a well-crafted, engaging piece that blends humor, history, and personal insight in a way that invites the reader to ponder the small, odd moments that sometimes take decades to make sense.