From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 35)

When I was much younger, I competed in the Olympics. I was an excellent shot. I thought nothing of entering the pistol duelling event, squaring up against an opponent, and shooting at each other with wax bullets. We did wear leather coats, a face mask and goggles, but my only real excuse was that I was young, reckless and foolish. I’d also been through an incident that had left me somewhat less than enamoured with life. I could have taken the gold, I have no doubt about that, but I deliberately held back and let myself get the silver. The service, as well as insisting I entered under false name, wanted me to go no further than bronze. I think it was my first true act of disobedience. Certainly, I had adopted a new role that I was to embrace for the rest of my career, if not my life, being that of a maverick. As an army man I’ve never been keen on taking orders from my intellectual inferiors. Fortunately, as I almost always get the job done, I find I get away with rather a lot.

Back then, even though I took silver, it was relatively easy to keep the press from getting a clear picture of my face. These days, those jackals of public scrutiny, press photographers, appear everywhere, and I can never express enough my utter disdain for them. They lurk in the bushes at every society party. Even partaking in the general nightlife of London, one can easily find a camera shoved in one’s face when exiting a nightclub. As much of my work depends on my enemies not knowing where I am, this is a great inconvenience. I could have chosen to disguise myself, but a disguise that is effective to the naked eye is quite different to a disguise that is effective to a camera.

One small advantage I can take from these circumstances is that when I create a persona I want known very quickly, I deliberately court press attention. However, this is not a trick I can use very often. Some of the newspapers’ perusers are the dowager brigade, who make sport of keeping track of those who attend societal events. Such beady eyes mean that appearing in the society columns under different personas quickly becomes dangerous.

The press has also negatively affected my private life. I have never taken anyone to my home. But now, with the prevalence of the press, I have chosen to buy a smallish, rural cottage to meet my long-term lover. Long gone are the days when one could dine discreetly at the Ritz or take a quiet stroll through Hyde Park. In my private life I cannot afford to be seen or photographed with anyone, for their safety as much as my own. It is most tedious. Fortunately, I am usually able to think of ways to amuse myself away from the public eye, after all, the best entertainment is usually had in private, with a well-chosen companion of a compliant and willing nature.