The past six months had been full of new experiences. This was one of them. Most of them hadn't been the most pleasant. Though not the worst, Stuart couldn't help but have his internal organs squirm a little as all eyes turned on him to introduce himself. Apparently introductions would be given in an anticlockwise direction. He hadn't been in a group of people remotely relevant to his life that didn't know his name for the best part of a decade. How times change.

He wondered what part of him had expected that a group of strangers on the other side of the Atlantic might recognise him. Foolish. He had, of course, spent the most prominent part of his career ducking the spotlight and telling journalists what to write - until they stopped listening to him, anyway. Even the realistic part of his mind, that one he tried to listen to above all others, hadn't imagined he might have to give his own introduction. He wasn't a big shot any more.

At least, he supposed they wouldn't read the British tabloids' version.

He had arrived almost a week prior. There was hardly any real inclination to stay in the UK and he was grateful to leave, truth be told. Even, yes, to America. What was it again? That land of the free, home of the brave, and a place where the interntationally disgraced could tacitly get off an airoplane without being assaulted by the press. He had, in the third week of the trial, bought a pint of milk from a local cornershop and seen his face on the front page of every newspaper on the rack. The following day, he read an article with comments supplied by the same shopkeeper that served him, claiming that he was "tired-looking" and that he "must be guilty". It was hardly a consolation that twelve men, good and true, had acquitted him of all charges when his name and picture were in every paper. Especially when he was indeed tired, and [i]technically[/i] actually guilty.

The newfound quietness, not one the Englishman traditionally associated with the United States, had been a welcome reprieve, but a painful reminder that things were, indeed, newly quiet. He'd had one quiet phonecall with his mother since he arrived at the BUC and, other than that, he'd basically stayed in his appartment, emerging only for the purposes of acquiring food. Still, provided accommodation and a decent paycheque (if not quite his previous eyewatering salary) - could be worse. The appartment was rather nice, too. Once he had his affairs sorted, and his bank balance slightly healthier-looking, he'd had every intention of finding his own place in anticipation of a dungy cupboard with half a bed in it and a loud snorer next door, with a well-sexed lothario on the other side. It was spacious and roomy and the sofa was almost obscenely comfortable, to the point where he wondered what the point in the bed was at all. The porter had politely indicated that it was a little bare but he should feel free to decorate it so that it felt like home. He'd smiled, and equally politely said that he might well, with no real intention of doing anything of the sort. A vase of flowers and a commercially mass-produced Banksy scribble did not a home make. Home was not simply a dwelling. Home was not having to introduce oneself to a room of strangers. Home was knowing the name of the person that made your tea for you but not actually having to bother asking them.

He sipped his coffee. The moment of truth.

"I'm Stuart Front. I don't know if you follow British news, but, yes, I'm [i]that[/i] Stuart Front. Anyhow, I'm formerly the Press Officer and personal adviser to the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom," he paused, and tried to gage the other faces in the room before pressing on quicly, "So I have a little experience in the field of press relations and being an all-round people person. I could natter for hours with graphs and charts about polls and people's interests and social demography but don't worry - I wouldn't do that to you," he smiled. A feeble, self-depricating joke, inoffensive but just enough to put a tiny pinprick in the tension, "Anyway, I've been here since Tuesday, so I'm also happy to give a little tour if anybody would like one."

He turned, with the rest of the room, to the chair on his right.