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  So true Ed, in the distant past our man in the Far East came back to Blighty after being posted there since the late forties (I think he was also there before the war).
  
  Imagine the scene, a six foot sixty something chap of the old school wearing a guards tie, his leathery skin weathered by the sun, arrives at my desk in a crumpled sweat-stained linen suit smelling of scotch, asked 'Before I see the Foreign Editor, is there anywhere I can get some Marmite?'
  
  ps I love the story about the thief pinching all the jars. Pssst! Wanna buy some Marmite?

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