Somehow I get an interview to work in the cuttings library at the Institute for the Study of Conflict. I present myself at their offices in Golden Square, in an oversized suit Kevin has left behind. Despite my music hall get up, it goes pretty well, even when I have no idea where Papua New Guinea is. I get called back for a second interview, and then again to be gently let down. It’s the closest I’ll get to a white-collar job for 30 years or so. Years later I am delighted to find out that it is a CIA front.