Our Dave’s boy and my godson, Matthew, always wanted to go into the Civil Service.

He’s got an MA in History.

All of a sudden, he’s a school teacher.

I’m pretty sure he’s been recruited by MI5.

Having recently watched a couple of episodes of “Spooks“, a BBC series, I’ve become a bit of an expert on these things.

It all fits the pattern

He’s moved out of his parents’ place into a flat of his own.

This’ll be to make sure that his micro-dots don’t disappear into the Hoover when his Mum cleans the room.

And he wouldn’t be able to fool his Dad into thinking that all the wirelesses and things that spies use are a new hi-fi.

“What’s this knob for, lad?”

“I wouldn’t touch that one, Dad. It’ll self-destruct in 20 seconds and pulverise the whole street”

So we can all sleep safely in the knowledge that he’s keeping an eye on these littlies in his school class, making sure that they don’t become radicalised and start IEDing themselves in the playground.

Of course, having blown his cover, I’ll likely be intercepted on the way to the Post Office to collect the pension and rendited away to a foreign country.

So if this stops in mid-sentence, you’ll know whats happ

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