When you return to the office after six years of retirement (due to the Iran story, as you may remember) to say hello to the few surviving colleagues, you will also meet the gentleman whose name would simply be “Q” in certain movies. “We still have the briefcase with your personal effects. Do you want to take it?” he will ask.

If you are cleverer than me, you will say “no thanks,” for unlocking that briefcase will unlock the spectre – or should I say the SPECTRE? – of the past, the memories long buried, with all the glory and action that you miss, but also the tension and heartbreak that it took you years to cleanse your dreams of.

After a brief look, I closed the briefcase, took it back to the depository and decided to let that can of worms remain closed forever, or at least I will find time to write that book. I am not going back to work. Life as a hobo is far too relaxing, interesting and satisfying.

Don’t ask any questions, I can’t answer them anyway.