My office, now, was a breath of fresh air, too. Everything I’d asked for had been done, the factory manager had done a great job. What was dark and cheerless previously was now duck-egg blue with a tan carpet, a tremendous improvement. Stepping from the monotone of the wider McLaren factory into my office was like that bit in The Wizard of Oz when they turn on the technicolour. The long nights would be less depressing from now on. Ron, however, was less impressed when, on Monday evening, he came round to see how I was getting on. Standing at the doorway, his jaw dropped and he stood gulping
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