I was Sir Jimmy Saville's Archivist

Now then, now then. It is summer 2006. I’ve managed to land one of the few jobs there are in the city at Baker Tilly, a Manchester accountancy firm.

The office lights are scorching my head- the rolling filing cabinets, containing thousands of documents, are on a raised area making the ceiling closer. The supposed simplicity of a filing job seems beyond my capability as various sheets don’t seem to have homes, but there are a few factors lightening my day.

Firstly, my manager is fit: long, dark hair, possibly younger than me in her early twenties, slim, a bastion of the pencil skirt and with a posh South-England accent to boot. Unfortunately she has a Deborah-Meaden-style coldness in her persona. Small-talk is out of the question- more so since she bollocked me for turning up half an hour late on two consecutive days.

Awkward.

The second day-brightening factor: the filing I am doing is for childhood dream-maker and Britain’s most respected chav, Sir Jimmy Savile.

Unfortunately, these are not the archived letters sent in to the hit show, Jim’ll Fix It. The correspondence relates to the slightly-less-interesting charity work with Mandeville Stoke Hospital, but it's a much more worthy cause than the former.

‘Dear Sir Jimmy,’ the letter starts out, before the detailed analysis of figures. He’ll understand it all, alright. The MENSA member Savile has an alleged IQ of 150, or so I’ve heard.

I note down the address for his Leeds home, just in case the show is revived. What would I ask for? I wonder. ‘A decent woman’ springs to mind.

I clip the sheet into the file.

Or a decent job.