Bunting, here. You know, there was a time, not so long ago, when I had to claim that I had nothing to do with Bletchley Park. Moreover, I was obliged to say I didn’t know what Bletchley Park was. The Ministry of Defence even ordered that I should pretend to get Bletchley Park mixed up with Longleat Safari Park. (So whenever anyone mentioned Bletchley I would go on and on about the ruddy lions.)

Well, those ghastly days of secrecy are long gone. I can now talk with gay abandon about my WWII code-breaking exploits until interviewers politely ask me to stop. Or, failing that, until they fall asleep on top of their microphones. (Apologies to John Humphrys for my indiscretion, there.)

The past is the past, though. Onwards and upwards. Tally-ho, and all that rot. These days, when I should be spending my time being offered piña coladas by accommodating young Barbadians in their Speedos, I’m crunching data and performing algorithmic alchemy in a cramped basement in Edinburgh. A basement, moreover, that smells of smoky bacon crisps and marijuana (Acapulco Gold, if I’m not mistaken).

Still, it’s been immense fun. Creating the edtwinge.com karma score has been every bit as rewarding as deciphering dastardly Nazi plans for world domination. Perhaps even more rewarding, if you take into account that my “rider” for this “gig” consisted of a crate of vintage sherry and a Stannah stairlift. Yes, there’s a subtle connection between those two items.

Anyway, my poppets, your great-aunt Deirdre has to sign off now. Some raw data is in need of cooking. Someone’s “bigging up” @bigcox so much, he’ll soon have to call himself @evenbiggercox.

I have been Bunting. You have been wonderful. Over and out.

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