Percival J. Twistleton, a mid-level functionary in the Department of Administrative Streamlining, was about to launch the government’s latest initiative: the National Efficiency Framework for Expedient Paperwork Processing (or NEFEPP, as the acronym-loving mandarins insisted). His brief was simple—make bureaucracy work faster. Or, failing that, at least make it look as though it was working faster.

With the enthusiasm of a man who had once tried to alphabetise a dictionary, Twistleton set about reducing departmental delays by introducing Form BZ-107/A, a streamlined version of the existing Form BZ-107, which itself had been a simplified replacement for Form BZ-32/Q. The only problem was that Form BZ-107/A required a supplementary Form BZ-107/B to verify that the new process was indeed more efficient, and that, in turn, necessitated a separate committee to oversee the verification, thereby doubling the workload of every civil servant involved.

On day one of the new policy’s rollout, chaos ensued.

“Twistleton!” bellowed Sir Reginald Blithers, Permanent Secretary of the Department. “Why am I receiving frantic calls from the National Farmers’ Union about sheep being classified as ‘non-dairy bovine subunits’?”

“Ah,” said Twistleton, adjusting his tie nervously. “That would be a minor clerical discrepancy on Form BZ-107/A. Easily remedied.”

“Easily remedied?” Sir Reginald spluttered. “Do you have any idea what happens when farmers think their sheep are cattle? They start demanding subsidies!”

Meanwhile, in the Department of Transport, a junior clerk stared at his screen in horror.

“Minister,” he stammered, “according to NEFEPP, we’ve stopped issuing driving licences altogether.”

“What?!” The Minister’s face turned the shade of an overripe tomato. “Who signed off on that?”

“Well, technically…” the clerk gulped. “You did. The new efficiency process required eliminating backlog, so… they interpreted it quite literally.”

Twistleton, oblivious to the carnage, was summoned to a parliamentary inquiry after his attempts to “eliminate inefficiency” resulted in every government worker having to submit an extra five forms to confirm they were indeed still employed.

“Mr. Twistleton,” an MP intoned, rubbing his temples. “Can you explain why a citizen now requires fourteen separate signatures to purchase a second-hand bicycle?”

“Well, you see,” Twistleton began, “it’s all about streamlining. The additional signatures ensure that—”

“—Ensure that no one can actually buy a bicycle?” the MP interrupted.

As he stood before the panel of irate politicians, Twistleton realised that his greatest achievement was proving, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the British civil service was entirely resistant to efficiency.

And so, NEFEPP was quietly shelved, rebranded as an “ongoing review initiative,” and scheduled for reassessment in twenty years’ time—by which point Twistleton fully expected to be knighted for his services to red tape.