There is this guy who has an office at the front of his house. Every morning as I am making my way back home from dropping Miss L off at school, this guy comes out of the door of his house and carrying his coffee, he unlocks the three locks on the office door and goes inside. I try to catch a glimpse inside as he goes through the door, but he goes in SO quickly I can’t see shit. Which makes my imagination run wild with possible scenarios of what this guy does in his convenient little office all day.
My absolute favourite job title for him at the moment is: Terrorist Identifier. He sits there listening in on ‘targets’ that MI5 have given him. He has to trace calls, check texts, emails, even Facebook posts for any suspected terrorist activity. This unassuming guy is protecting us all from any terrorist threat.
Whenever I see him, I try to do that thing when you really STARE at someone to make them realise you are staring at them, so they turn around to look at you. To be honest, if my hunch is to hold any water this guy’s Spy Training should have taught him that little gem in the very first class – but alas no, this fellow hasn’t clocked me standing across the road eyes locked, focused, burning, vision blurred as I try to get his attention just so I can give him a knowing little nod as a thank you for keeping all of us safe.
For all I know he could be JUST some guy who sells model car parts on eBay. But I think I prefer my version of the truth.