Sitting in the departure lounge at Heathrow, waiting for my flight to Washington yesterday, I noticed a familiar figure – David Miliband. It was strange to see a man I’d known as foreign secretary as just a normal traveller – passport in hand, clad in jeans and a white shirt. Once we arrived in Washington, I vaguely expected someone from protocol to sweep Miliband away. But no – he queued up to be finger-printed at immigration with the rest of us. Read more
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