Cole walked up the stem of the I, through rows of desks belonging to ordinary common or garden reporters, to the long news desk which divided the room in two. Behind it was the U-shaped subeditors' table, and beyond that, in the crosspiece of the I, was the sports department-a semi-independent kingdom, with its own editor, reporters, and subs. Cole occasionally showed curious relatives around the place: he always told them: "It's supposed to work like a production line. Usually it's more like a bun fight." It was an exaggeration, but it always got a laugh.

The room was brightly lit, and empty. As deputy news editor, Cole had a section of the news desk to himself. He opened a drawer and took out a coin, then walked to the vending machine in Sport and punched buttons for instant tea with milk and sugar. A teleprinter chattered to life, breaking the silence.

As Cole walked back to his desk with his paper cup, the far door bumped open. A short, gray-haired figure came in, wearing a bulky parka and cycle clips. Cole waved and called: "Morning, George."

"Hello, Arthur. Cold enough for you?" George began to take off his coat. The body inside it was small and thin. Despite his age, George held the title Head Lad: he was chief of the office's team of messengers. He lived in Potters Bar and cycled to work. Arthur thought that an astonishing feat.

Arthur put down his tea, shrugged out of his raincoat, turned on the radio, and sat down. The radio began to murmur. He sipped tea and gazed straight ahead. The newsroom was scruffy-chairs were scattered randomly, newspapers and sheets of copy paper littered the desks, and redecoration had been postponed in last year's economy drive-but the scene was too familiar to register. Cole's mind was on the first edition, which would be on the streets in three hours.

Today's paper would have sixteen pages. Fourteen of the first edition's pages already existed as semicylindrical metal plates on the press downstairs. They contained advertising, features, television programs, and news written in such a way that its age would-it was hoped-be overlooked by the reader. That left the back page for the sports editor and the front page for Arthur Cole.