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When I first saw this book an old comedy film came to mind: Carlton‐Brown of the FO (UK Foreign Office). The action took place in the depths of the Cold War. It featured a crusty old diplomat in some far‐flung corner of empire. He was long past his prime, confined to a bath chair by gout. When asked whether he received many official telegrams, he whispered “I have just had a message from Saint Petersburg”. (Audience chuckles at this quaint memory from the tsarist past. The old boy was obviously suffering from dementia.) But not so quick – what is...

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