Faceless

Most of my blogs I try to write in a slightly tongue in cheek, or amusing fashion as I consider myself to be mostly a glass half full type of person, but the choice of word, faceless, has sent me off in a much darker direction, hopefully I shall return to humour by the end of this blog.

Nobody is literally faceless, there are many people who’s face has been so badly damaged by fire, by cancer, or by an animal attack that they are described as faceless, but this is not true, everyone has a face no matter how badly mutilated it may be, it is still their face. Thankfully modern medicine is coming to their aid with plastic surgery so good nowadays that we have come to the point where it is possible to have a complete face transplant.

Is there such a thing as a face so ordinary that it could be described as faceless, the sort of face needed to be a competent international spy, I suppose there must be. Initially I thought the sort of face required to be a spy must be so bland that when MI5 or the KGB have interviews for the post the candidates must be so ordinary and forgettable that photographs must be taken to recognise them should they be called back having got the job.

Obviously there is a place for the faceless spy, the sort of chap who merges into the background barely noticed scurrying about stealing official secrets and meeting his or her contacts at prearranged park benches where the documents are exchanged in a folded copy of The Times.

I imagine there must still be job opportunities for the more femme fatale type of spy, a woman so alluring that after a night of passion any red blooded Military Attache worth his salt would spill the beans on his countries plans for the defence of the realm.

So how do those in counter intelligence set about capturing these spies, obviously the latter is far easier to trace for with a description of, “she had the face of an angel, a figure to die for and legs that went on forever,” one feels this woman may stand out in a crowd somewhat more than the faceless man in the park minding his own business feeding the ducks.

I’m very glad to say I have never been called upon to be a spy for I do not possess many of the attributes required for the job, firstly, I do not have the face of an angel, nor the figure or legs required, coupled with the fact that I am the wrong sex and secondly I have far too much character about my face to be considered any use as the faceless man in the crowd.

Much as the idea of swanning across Europe in a Jaguar XK120, like Michael Caine in the Ipcress File, looks great fun, I have to admit that were it real life, I’m a little squeamish about being captured and having to spend the rest of my rather short life doing hard labour in some freezing desolate Russian gulag in Siberia.

Should by some strange quirk of the algorithms, someone from MI5 be reading this blog and be foolish enough to offer me a job, I have to say, thanks for the offer of gainful employment, but if you don’t mind I’ll give it a miss, thank you.