So there we were in the bar, the man from the CIA at my door.  He wrote speeches for the MOD for the last US administration for Pete’s sake. And he says he has a swimming pool in Washington and that he likes to go fishing quietly with his best friend.  And I say I’m ready for children but that I’m incompatible, and he says can he take his beer into the auditorium.  Well it’s all over now, no curry after the show in Tooting, no expedition the next day to the V&A.  He was effectively dumped for being too useful to a girl on the mile.  What if I’m a real life spy?  What if his real name is Ralph Fiennes? It isn’t altogether clear why we can’t connect through social media but I’m going to watch Kenneth Branagh to see if he’s in the returns queue again.

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