Back in January I decided to chase up a rumour that the Government was planning to radio-tag serious offenders so it could track their movements. So, I did my research, wrote some words and rang the prison’s service to see if anybody fancied having a chat about it – confirm, deny, ignore. Whatever. Seven months later, I got my response.

Seven months… that’s 213 days, 639 meals, five and half million breathes, 1,704 hours of sleep. Empires have fallen quicker than that.

Not to suggest that in the mean time I was ignored, oh no. Every couple of months or so I would get an email from one department or another apologising for the delay, explaining that my request was being dealt with by a roomful of chimps high on Fanta and that a response would be forthcoming next month. I’d wait – well, I’d forget, it’s kind of the same – and then Outlook would ping with another apology, another excuse, another faint smell of bananas, and I’d be deferred another month.

It became a running joke in the office, right up until last week when the selfish Government finally dispensed with my sport and sent my answer along – I quote.

“We can confirm there is no truth in the story that the Government is considering any scheme to implant prisoners with radio-tags to track their movements.”

That my friends, is bureaucracy in action.