It Struck Him As A Bit Unfair

The Secret Intelligence Service I Knew Occupied Dusky Suites Of Little Rooms Opposite St James's Park Tube Station In London.

There Are Moments Which Are Made Up Of Too Much Stuff For Them To Be Lived At The Time They Occur.

During The Cold War, We Lived In Coded Times When It Wasn't Easy And There Were Shades Of Grey And Ambiguity.

I Happen To Write By Hand. I Don't Even Type.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold Was The Work Of A Wayward Imagination Brought To The End Of Its Tether By Political Disgust And Personal Confusion. Fifty Years On, I Don't Associate The Book With Anything That Ever Happened To Me, Save For One Wordless Encounter At London Airport When A Worn-out, Middle-aged Military Kind Of Man In A Stained Raincoat Slammed A Handful Of Mixed Foreign Change On To The Bar And In Gritty Irish Accents Ordered Himself As Much Scotch As It Would Buy. In That Moment, Alec Leamas Was Born. Or So My Memory, Not Always A Reliable Informant, Tells Me.