When one finds oneself falling asleep on the sofa at 2030hrs you come to realise that one of two things has happened: Either your 70th birthday has snuck by without you knowing and your dreams are littered with adverts from Stanna and Saga, or you have been burning the candle at not only both ends, but also in two places in the middle.
Whilst a visual check in the mirror confirms that I have the complexion and black eyes of a 70 year old insomniac, it dawns on me that as an otherwise healthy 32 year old male, I really should take this as a sign that I need sleep and thus (after a ‘Sky plussed’ edition of Spooks) I find myself in bed for the first time in a long time, by 2200hrs.
As I lay there snug in my duvet with an electric blanket gently baking me on gas mark 5, I remember the days of nine to five and go through the mental checklist of why I do this job again. Getting to the point where I list down all of the bugging equipment I get to play with, I smile, roll over and allow myself to be taken over by dreams of playing Poker in
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