Apparently Julian Assange - sworn enemy of all secrecy, mighty hacker-warrior, glamorous sex god, and planetary philanthropist who had dedicated his life (like Roger Ramjet) to making the world a better place in which to live on - isn't really all that happy hiding in the Ecuadorian embassy any more.
And nor is the embassy. "Assange is said to be living a cramped life inside the embassy. He eats mostly take-out food and uses a treadmill to burn off energy and a vitamin D lamp to make up for the lack of sunlight."
Gosh, he must be a real joy to live with. The reek of stale grease from all those empty pizza boxes and plastic containers piling up; the annoying thud-thud-thud of the treadmill at odd hours of the day and night, the strange glow of the vitamin D lamp under the closed bedroom door. No one to listen to him talk about himself; people not paying any attention to him.
I'd love to make some elaborate comparisons here with Hitler in 1945 or Howard Hughes in 1976, but Assange simply isn't in their league. But I can tell you exactly whose league he is in, and that would be the under-10s.
Assange's attempted game of hide-and-seek with the adults of this world has ended - as so many other small children have had to learn - with the adults sitting in the living room watching TV. Not counting to 100 and then coming to get you, as you so carefully instructed them.
But perhaps this is too harsh - perhaps it would be fairer to compare Assange to that ubiquitious teenage son, now in his 30s, who refuses to leave the family nest and spends his days in front of the computer with his bedroom blinds drawn.