It was an interesting experience, being interviewed by one of the local papers here in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire.
It wasn't for anything I'd done or because I'd won some kind of award or lottery prize. Believe it or not, it was because I was, to all intents and purposes, a cipher.
Small town politics are always interesting if for no other reason than there are always a small group of people that are at the center of the political goings on. So when someone not known to that group or the townspeople - a newcomer to town or someone just now getting involved - shows up, it's news. People want to know who this stranger is. In this case the stranger was me.
We went over the usual stuff, got into the why and wherefore of this blog, my reactions to the task which I and six of my fellow townspeople have taken upon ourselves, and life in general.
As nice as it all was, I decided that I wouldn't show the intrepid reporter the two cells in the dungeon down in the sub-basement. You know the ones I'm talking about. After all, I couldn't afford The Manse and its amenities without the subcontracting work I'm doing, interrogating jihadis for the CIA.
Of course my methods might be considered inhumane: forcing them to watch endless reruns of The Gong Show. After a week of that, they always talk.....