I was minding my own business whilst wandering out for lunch in the local market today when I received a short, sharp tap on the shoulder; when I turned around I spied a familiar face. This person urged me to follow them along one of the quieter side streets which are a feature of this particular London postcode. I think regular readers can guess who this person is but I can't write any more detail because this blog is seemingly morphing into a quasi-Spook-like entity. Although my readership is currently extremely limited (boo, hiss!), Big Brother may we watching me as I type and I'm not referring to that gawd awful Channel 4 programme either.
Despite being pronounced dead for the best part of a year, Mr X looked amazingly vibrant and dressed in [redacted] he looked sexy and mysterious. When I asked him how he'd know I was going to be in the vicinity at a particular time he answered: "Margaret, you always take lunch at 12:08 precisely to avoid the crowds, buy your cheese, ham and tomato seedy bap, browse the bookshop and still have enough time to return to your desk and search the internet. I can set my watch by you, you're a public servant and as such, change perplexes you."
He pressed a cream and gold embossed card into my palm which contained details of his current residence and contact details. To avoid detection should I need to meet/visit him in the short to medium term, he promised me that he'd send a suitable disguise via Registered Post. I'm glad he's so well-organised, it wouldn't be to be anything else in this day and age, would it?
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