numbers, especially over the phone. Numbers seem to be taxing, but no one could really say why. In my case, being numerically challenged in a foreign tongue followed me from Mexico to other countries and from Spanish to German and Portuguese. But, in that first journalism job, getting the numbers wrong didn’t always add up to failure. One night, a Mexican colleague learnt that the American consul in the port city of Veracruz was being held hostage at gunpoint in his office. With no senior English-speaking reporter in the office, it was left to me to try to reach the consulate by phone. Having got the number wrong, I was put through to an extension elsewhere in the building and the identity of the person who took my call was unmistakable: I chatted for 15 minutes to the gunman. I may not have persuaded him to put away his gun – but my reputation as a rookie reporter still rose overnight.