Who was that Masked Bore?

I see that Belle de Jour woman has decided to discard anonymity. Rum do; no good will come of it. Now her photograph is plastered all over the papers, her ex wants her back, her mother is proud of her and it turns out she's a Doctor of Philosophy and was the designer of the Large Hadron Collider. I may have imagined that last bit.

I was given her first book by a friend who knows my...predilections. It is well written...but oddly, not my cup of tea. Obviously, I skimmed it first, looking for the tasty stuff...and it's there...but she would keep introducing acute and intelligent remarks and analysis, and information about inter-personal relationships and what I believe you humans call "emotions". And all I really want to read about is perverse desire, filthy degradation and sordid beastliness, so it's back to My Secret Life (by "Walter" -look it up, I can't be bothered to contextualise here). You know where you are when you're exploring the foul underbelly of Victorian sexuality.

But damn and blast it, I digress. My point is the young lass has set the cat amongst the pigeons. I am already under intense pressure from the British Mass media (specifically Pet Reptile and Amateur Herpetologist) to reveal my true identity.

I hope you will understand why I must say here and now that this cannot be. Quite apart from the oath of secrecy I took in the Lubyanka all those years ago, it is not in my interests to be candid. Firstly, announcing my identity draws the attention of my creditors (curse them). Even ignoring the trifling matter of my outstanding debts to tailors, vintners, bookmakers,trumpery lawyers, pimps, and the International Monetary Fund (long story), I dare not expose my whereabouts to my enemies ( who are legion). That vast, malign confederation of evil, twisted, sub-human beings (and I am not here talking solely about Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs) would stop at nothing to wreak vengeance on me. They cannot be allowed to track me down, not now, when I am so near, so very near to...what am I saying! Silence! Yes...silence...The world will know soon enough. Soon enough....

Suffice to say, it would be inconvenient to my plans to be exposed to public scrutiny. I still have much to do. I need to be able to travel unmolested to Pyonyang, Damascus, Rangoon, Caracas, Vladivostok and Burton-on-Trent...

And of course, there is another reason why I must remain anonymous: the shame. The appalling shame that would accompany exposure.

Belle de Jour was simply a prostitute. I, God help me, work for the British Government...