I now knew what the formula was. The people who are the right sort of mad are a bit madder than we fear we’re becoming, and in a recognizable way. We might be anxious but we aren’t as anxious as them. We might be paranoid but we aren’t as paranoid as them. We are entertained by them, and comforted that we’re not as mad as they are. David Shayler’s tragedy is that his madness has spiralled into something too outlandish, too far out of the ball park, and consequently useless. We don’t want obvious exploitation. We want smoke-and-mirrors exploitation.