We both sat down on Sunday afternoon, armed and ready with our papers. Iszi bought The Sunday Telegraph, and I bought The Independent On Sunday. What followed was half an hour of something that felt like the inside of a yawn.
The problem was, our papers were a bit too engaging, and we were more than a little tired. It was essentially just us taking it in turns to read out loud. Imagine a primary school assembly but without the talent.
So, when we were done, we both agreed that this recording must never see the light of day. We took ten minutes off, in which I ate a Wispa Gold, and Iszi poked Douglas, then we came back and had a chat about anything and everything.
This is what happened: