A zealous visitor from across the pond must be kept busy - and is there more to the management trainee than meets the eye?

Today an interesting figure was introduced to Greycoat by Ardent, our fervent American strategist, as 'our new team-builder of the future, who is shadowing me for an indeterminate period'.

Greycoat looked slightly nonplussed, but soon gathered that Bobby Keane was a management trainee fresh from some DoH-sponsored postgraduate psychobabble course.

He feigned interest in Bobby's well-practised verbal CV, but I knew the signs - a slight drooping of the head, a shuffling of papers and surreptitious glances at the grey Rolex (only£15 in Bangkok).

Ardent suggested that Bobby might spend some quality learning time with Rosie Broomstick.

The Grey One agreed fervently, then said he had a pressing engagement and promptly disapppeared. So it was that after another excruciating Yale- speak intro, Bobby was dumped on poor Rosie.

After a few minutes' chat alone with Bobby, she left her office to consult her secretary about what should be done with him. 'Oh God, Gladys, another of Ardent's ardents, what shall I do with him?'

Gladys suggested a survey of direction signs. There was no doubt at all that she had brains.

Bobby was thrilled, damned fool, and said he was sure it would help him 'fix the internal configuration of the estate spaces in his consciousness'.

So off he went, clipboard in hand, while Rosie prepared to discipline a porter for not being in two places at once.

Bobby headed straight for the nearest ward, where I heard him interrogating the sister about staffing numbers and whether they had much contact with the other ENT department at St Jude's.

Shortly after, we passed the HR department's forbidding entrance and I decided to see what the Terminator was up to.

Tarantino sat in his austere office reading the latest from Millbank Tower, New Labour - new downsizing, when his phone rang. 'Oh hello, Justin'.

It was Smoothie from region. Tarantino confirmed that, yes indeed, they did have a Mr Keane on a temporary placement, and yes he thought it would be a wonderful idea for him to shadow Greycoat.

The conversation was hardly ended when the Terminator stabbed at the keypad to speak to Greycoat.

'Lamberhurst? Charles. We have a regional mole.'