A few years ago I spent a day at Korn Ferry pretending to be a headhunter. I raced around London in taxis, sat in on interviews and drew up lists. When it was time to go home, I asked the woman I had been shadowing if she would give me a job. No, she replied after an indecently short pause. The main problem with me, she said, was that I said what I thought.

This was a blow, as I had thought I’d found my vocation. Headhunting (contrary to its slimy reputation) struck me as being just as worthwhile as teaching or nursing but without the dismal salary. Finding the right person for the right job is more important than most things, and anyone who can do it deserves not only a place in heaven (or similar) but also the thwacking great fee they extract for their efforts.