From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 133)

I can’t say that I ever get bored. I excel in amusing myself, although, I will admit, this can sometimes be at others’ expense. While I might not get depressed, my mood can certainly be lowered by the sheer dullness of people.

The point of being a spy is to spy on other people and their activities, so to some extent I remove myself from the spheres of interaction. Yet, there must always be those occasions when rumours, truths, or hidden plans can only be uncovered by venturing forth into the social realm.

As soon as one enters that arena, regardless of motivation, one encounters jealousy, betrayal, lust, pettiness, anger, and self-pity - and that’s just the servants! Their masters are an nth degree higher, their self-aggrandisement leading them to believe their schemes are ingenious and totally impenetrable. Ha, about as impenetrable to me as their neglected wives and mistresses.

Society men, I despair for you. Your machinations are oh so predictable. As I watch you gather in your little cliques in ballrooms up and down the country - heads of state, senior civil servants, and captains of industry, you form the very same groups that you did at school.

Why, you even use the same nicknames among these hierarchies, which is why a very senior politician, whose real name I won’t divulge, but which will come as no surprise, is known to his friends as ‘Sticky Biscuit’. A senior navy man, of this country, goes by the nickname ‘The Rear Admiral’ among his friends (and it has nothing to do with his rank).

Of course, only the most unscrupulous of men would take advantage of such knowledge, sending embarrassing messages out to these individuals through Times personal columns, and reeking havoc among the upper classes.

No, I can’t say that I am ever bored.