The Spy Who Came In From The Cold

There's a news story today about someone who'd been missing for five years, and this weekend walked into a police station. Missing, presumed dead, his return has obviously come as a great relief to everyone.

A similar thing happened to me this afternoon. Because a long time ago, I used to work for the Government. Not the political parties, of course - not the Conservatives (who were in power for most of my time), nor even the Labour party (who swept to power just as I was leaving). No, I worked for the people who really run the country - the Civil Service.

But, ten years ago, I resigned. And shortly after, I moved. Hence, I became officially missing. A bit like Patrick McGoohan in The Prisoner, only without the kit cars or the village or the kidnapping.

Today, I returned. I'm quite sure that far-off computers illuminated lights on a display screen somewhere, that telexes were sent and emails appeared on the Blackberries of Whitehall mandarins in offices both at home and abroad. Ant is back, just like Jack Bauer, only without the good looks and the ruggedness and all that unnecessary showing-off.

The reason for all this is that while tidying up this afternoon, I found some documents from my illustrious career in public service. And I remembered how I'd failed to tell them my new address when I moved, and how I'd failed to fill out their form asking me if I'd got married, as they needed to know all that stuff for my pension.

A pension! I forgot I had one of those.

I made the call.

Needless to say, the number had changed, but a little detective work revealed where duties had been transferred to.

I made the call.

"Civil Service Pensions", said the reassuringly smooth lady voice on the end of the phone. It was like being home again.

I said hello, explained my absence, gave my super-secret-squirrel codeword (which mere mortals might confuse with an ordinary National Insurance number, but we know better.) Within moments, my details were filling the screen of the distant operative.

"Mr  -redacted-  ?", she said. I confirmed my identity.

"It's good to have you back, Sir." I think she said that, at least, but I was momentarily distracted. We chatted amiably for a few moments, and I indicated that I was about to transmit my co-ordinates to her. Grateful for the update, she indicated that new goodies and access codes would be posted to me shortly. (And we know how good Government post is.)

I commented that it had been a while, and I should not have left them wondering where I was for so long. Her voice was reassuring. "People often forget about us for a while, but then as they get older they get in touch to put their affairs in order."

Affairs?! ... Oh, right, the pension. Of course. We chatted some more, at which point they said they'd post me a "valuation" as well. I'm sure that this will be a considerable sum for my many years of modestly-paid work.

It's very good to be back. Now that they know where I am, I'm sure that my country will be in touch if they need me to handle any more urgent filing and photocopying for them.