In 1991, I had my first and, alas, only taste of journalism as it is seen in the movies. I was called in the middle of the night to the home of a frightened source. After much fretting and several bottles of whisky, my appalling use of moral blackmail, which included appealing to his love for his children, succeeded and he agreed to hand over a secret document he had spotted at the offices of the Atomic Energy Authority.
