My first indirect encounter with the then editor of the Manchester Guardian, who had been in office for two years, was unpropitious. On the strength of cuttings I had submitted, I had been invited to Manchester for an interview to see whether, at the age of 24, I was a suitable recruit for the famous Cross Street reporters' room. When I arrived, I was greeted by Harry Whewell, the news editor, who - sitting at a rolltop desk straight out of Ben Hecht's The Front Page - explained that the editor had been called away 'on pressing business' and that, therefore, the most I could expect that day was a preliminary chat with him.