One division of the company I work for performs investigative research into companies and individuals. I originally thought this kind of work would be fascinating and glamorous. Like most kids I fantasized about being a secret detective when I was 11 or 12. Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys stylee.

It’s actually shit boring. I don’t personally have to trawl through the numerous databases to which we subscribe thankfully. But I do review it. When we can’t get sufficient information ourselves we hire security firms and private detectives. I can’t believe how incredibly shit boring that work must be.

One thing that sometimes continually amazes me is the extent of peoples’ deceit and the shit that they will lie about. Weird stuff. Things that aren’t important. Tiny small lies. Whopping fucking big ones. My clients call me naive when I call them astounded with research. I am well acquainted with the art of repeating a lie so often that you start to believe it yourself, but the intricate webs involving others leaves me aghast. Ah well. It will all out in the end, or else sit there festering.

Clients constantly bitch at me, anyway, but in particular at the lack of public databases on criminal records in the UK. I am in no way an expert on this, or anything English really or anything actually so quit asking and quit whining. I tell them that in the UK it is the individual’s responsibility to disclose. We don’t have guns or ID cards (yet anyway). We are trusting people and basically pretty jolly nice. Stop corrupting us with your lies and suspicions and have a nice cup of tea. A cup of tea will cure the world and every broken heart.