Or the Clark Kent version of him, with reddy-brown hair and black-framed glasses, and OK he’s not as muscular as the real deal, or as tall, but he’s deffo got a look about him that says he might like putting his pants on over his trousers.

Joke. He doesn’t look like that sort of twonk at all.

He looks kind of ordinary I suppose, and friendly, because he gets up and shakes my hand, says thanks for agreeing to see him—no one asked—and would I like to sit down?

I see no reason not to, I don’t have anything else to do, and with any luck this isn’t going to be about ratting out the PC or BJ.

He tells me his name, Dan Collier, and when he says he wants to talk about you, because of the way he says it I straightaway want to run. I don’t, mainly because there’s a screw outside the door to stop me. I think he must be a cop, or . . . Actually, I don’t know what else I thought he might be . . . A vicar?

Even after he explains what he does I’m still not sure I’m fully clued in. Restorative justice has never been on my radar before, but I listen to what he has to say, and I kind of get it, but I just don’t see it working. So I tell him he’s wasting his time and probably ought to give up now and go home.

He doesn’t argue or anything, or get worked up when I start tapping my hand to let him know I’m bored (what a muppet I was then). He just keeps going, talking, talking, or he stops and looks at me like he’s expecting an answer to something he’s asked. When he doesn’t get one he starts up again. Next thing he’s answering his questions himself as if it’s me doing the talking, and I’m starting to feel a bit like one of those ventriloquists—you know, I keep my mouth shut and all the words come out of him.

It starts to get entertaining after a while, and I end up laughing at something, can’t remember what, and by the time he gets around to asking me about the attempted murder charge I don’t mind telling him what a toerag my lawyer is and that no one’s told me anything almost since I got put in here.

I’m gobsmacked when he says he’ll look into things for me, because it sounds like he means it, so I ask him if he’s a lawyer. Turns out he is, just not the sort I need, but he tells me not to worry about that, he’ll be back again soon and by then he should have my legal representation better sorted.

So, he is Superman.