7.30am, Belmarsh Magistrates Court in an area of south east London once a centre of docking, shipwrights, river work, and now a vast warehouse for human surplus to the requirements of a global economy, as far as I can tell, and there were already two dozen satellite vans pulled up outside. The paps were up on their step-ladders, the truthers were across the road with their V for Vendetta masks on, and the travelling children's circus was back in town, as the Julian Assange extradition hearing began.

When we last left our hero, he was languishing in a Norfolk mansion with a Glasgow Rolex on his ankle, trapped in a Christmas photo-shoot wearing hunting brogues, with the Swedish government wanting him back for further questioning on four accusations of sexual misconduct and rape.