‘Morning. Old Archie calls me The Young Man With a Wire in His Ear. I do have a name, but if I told you what it is, I’d have to kill you. Only joking. Sort of. Anyway, I said to Archie, I said, look Archie, I know your schedule backwards; I go everywhere with you (apart from the bog, but there’s a P56 minicam in there) and even though I think you’re a bit wet and posh, I have to admit you’ve got guts and your heart’s in the right place. That’s why I let you think I don’t know how you smuggle your TftDs out of the Palace. And I like the fact that you had a pop at those little bleeders at Wonga although all that guff about “What would Jesus have done?” doesn’t cut it with me. The odd inexplicable house fire and some very explicit stuff in Inboxes (untraceable, natch), and dead rats turning up in tumble dryers would have floated my boat.
But I suppose the Arch of Cant can’t really waltz about the place roughing up the bad guys. I’ve always found that a good going over, a pre-emptive smack in the gob, so to speak, works wonders in the mind-changing department. You’re a bit on the puny side though, aren’t you? So you’ve got to do it your way. And I’ll do it mine. But I’ll be doing it for you and yours, Archie. I’m part of the great Unseen. I alter stuff. Look at those money-lending leeches who are about to appear before a Parliamentary Sub-Committee. They don’t HAVE to be there. But after a visit from myself and Brenda (PGRU - Pain Gets Results Unit), Wonga and the other greasy little creeps decided that they should. Don’t worry, the marks won’t show.
What I’m trying to say, Archie is – I’m on your side. You’re one of the good guys. So when it's all looking a tad hopeless; when your patience and understanding are getting you absolutely zilch then suddenly main planks of the opposition (a lot of them ARE planks) have heart attacks in Spanish Jacuzzis, or peg out after a spot of skinny-dipping in Coniston Water, that’ll be the Young Man With a Wire in His Ear doing what Jesus probably wouldn’t have done.