You know, you have those days - the writing's gone tits up and there's nothing on TV, and while idly surfing the internet something catches your eye and you're suddenly struck with a great idea:
"I know, I'll join M16."
And it's all terribly cool, only you can't tell anyone except your British spouse and your British parents and that must be done out of the side of your mouth, quietly, while winking furiously, and you most certainly mustn't tell people on your blog that you're about to don a special rubber spy suit and become a member of the secret intelligence service - so, I'm not. You know. I'm not applying to be a honeytrap. Because they "absolutely" don't do that, it says, and anyway some of you are, good god! foreigners, so I wouldn't be able to say.
I've blown it already, haven't I?
Oh, and just because I am really quite seriously paranoid about these kinds of things and through a mix of information gathered from Kafka novels and The Man From Uncle, I expect to be shortly disappeared for taking the piss out of M16, so if you don't hear from me in a week then please can someone come and feed the cat?
*Many of the details in this post have been changed. For example, I don't have a TV. Clever, huh? It's part of my secret smoke screen. Also, I don't have a cat, even though I'd really like one. It would be incompatible with operations.