Ah, good thanks, yes.

It was at the Bafta Awards after-party in 2001 that I had the good fortune to be able to assist the queen of youth radio, Zoe Ball. The poor lamb had been cornered by that despicable little sex pest Jamie Theakston and was clearly only pretending to enjoy his conversation.

Well! The thought of poor Zoe gritting those lovely teeth of hers and getting all hot under her men’s shirt collar was more than even your narrator, yes me, Nigel Havers – Englishman, gentleman, actor – could resist. I knew just what she wanted and I was the only one who could give it to her.

Tools of the trade:
Good cheekbones
Tenacity
Witty conversation
A voice like satin
A broad-rimmed hat
A suggestive wink
A large packet
A packet of three

As nimbly as a gymnast I tiptoed through the stellar crowd, deftly dismissing a proffered tray of vol-au-vents, dodging the gaze of a waving Wendy Richards and ducking under the wildly pontificating finger of David Essex to arrive like a knight in shining flannel, oozing with desire at Zoe’s side.

Well, needless to say she nearly dropped her beer and Theakston his Smirnoff Ice when they saw me, their jaws falling open like the scales from their eyes. For here was I, a visitor from the magical world of TV drama among these modern presenters, here to enlighten them with my wisdom of years, my experience, my legendary sex appeal.

“Hello Zoe, how’s your father?” I enquired with a velvety moan and Zoe softened, as Theakston withdrew to mingle further off. Exactly as I had planned!

“Ooh, yes please,” Zoe answered quickly, and then raised her slender fingers to her mouth and gave a loud wolf whistle. Within seconds, tiny-faced Gail Porter had arrived at Zoe’s side, the pair’s arms snaked around each other’s trim waists, and with the index fingers of their free hands the girls were beckoning me to come closer to their pursed and pouting lips.

Well! Far be it for me to refuse a woman in her moment of need – and there were sure to be plenty of other C-list beauties in the room with favours I should attend to.

And so I did the dutiful thing, disappearing back into the throng as suddenly as I had arrived, leaving Zoe and Gail to enjoy each other without Jamie’s perverted presence.

The pleasure, as is customary on these high profile occasions, had been all mine.

Pippity-pip,

N.H.