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Death has certain advantages, and I don’t just mean the tax breaks. For example, it gives a certain perspective. I managed to notch up four score years and change, but even that relatively long shelf life becomes infinitesimally small when divided by the timespan that follows. 

MacLaurin, who fancied himself as a bit of a card, would have said life was therefore statistically insignificant, or even non-existent. Which would go some way to explaining the man’s personality, but I digress.

One upside of ectoplasm is that you can slip into pretty much any meeting you like. I felt quite at home during Leahy’s time since the stingy Scouser never so much as replaced a paperweight. In fact, until Clarke brought in a bunch of art school cast-offs to turn the office into a schlock Ikea showroom, the oak panels of the Cheshunt boardroom reminded me mostly of the view from inside my present home. 

Suffice to say that getting the inside track on meetings around “New” Tesco House hasn’t been all that edifying recently. I could tell a few tales but other spooks are on the case now. 

You know, I built my first head office in Cheshunt, and I put a bit of a market garden behind. We had some good times. We could be tough but sometimes we needed to be. You don’t build up a business like that on £30 without a bit of chutzpah. But we booked sales and profits when they were made and we didn’t push our luck. It wasn’t all that complicated.

And now they’re moving out. No one in their right mind would want the old offices, so I guess they’ll just crumble into the River Lea. Sad, really. It was a good business, once.