A long time ago, maybe a quarter of a century, a man knocked on our door. He had some pieces of paper in his hand, and he said he was canvassing for the local elections.
We chatted for a while, and I asked him in for a cup of tea, and he drank a cup of tea with me and my mum. He left a piece of paper on our kitchen table. When he’d gone, my mum said, ‘What a nice lad. I hope he does well.’
Well, he has done well. Yesterday, I met him again in Bill’s. It turns out he’s onto something really interesting. Do you remember the weapons inspector David Kelly? Well, he thinks he didn’t commit suicide. He also thinks he’s dug up enough evidence to make the world believe it, too.
Sitting there in Bill’s, he said, ‘I’m satisfied in my own mind that he didn’t commit suicide.’
And I thought: this is an extraordinary story. If true, it rocks the world as we know it. Because if David Kelly, the weapons inspector, did not commit suicide, then what?
Then he was murdered.
Standing there in Bill’s, I said I’d like to find out more, to meet the guy and talk about the Kelly story. He agreed. And I remembered that afternoon, all those years ago. In my memory, I walked him to the door, and went back into the kitchen, and looked at the piece of paper he’d left.
There was a name on the piece of paper. It was ‘Norman Baker.’