Ah good day.

My dear reader thank you for pausing to peruse my inaugral column. By virtue of the perhaps unfair erotic advantage one enjoys as the film-world's best-loved Englishman, gent and fine, fine actor fellow, I shall in these pages be endeavouring to "give something back" - by unburdening myself to you, the common man. So now that you are here, friend, I should very much like to "set out my stall", as it were, with the tale of a favour that I recently performed for the delectable Zoe Wanamaker.

Having attended several of Zoe's sumptuous soirées of late it had come to one's attention that Zoe's garden gate was not entirely square to its hinges and was quite, quite impossible to latch. Well! The thought of poor Zoe tossing and turning between her white silk sheets and cursing her gate banging in the wind was more than even I - gentle as a babe and calm as a dove - could bear. I knew just what she needed.

Tools of the trade:
A knowing smile
A hammer
A tongue as smooth as glass
A good screwdriver
Wit as cool as snow
A fine hat
Rubber jonnies

I chose the perfect night - the brisk wind of the day had grown into a howling gale come the evening, and poor Zoe's gate must have been flapping like it were possessed by devils. I put my hat and coat on, grabbed my toolkit and drove straight over.

The glow from Zoe's bedroom window confirmed my intuition. With gloved hand I stayed the offending gate and waited for silence to penetrate the gloom. Sure enough, Zoe's bewildered face appeared at the window, creased and troubled by sleeplessness yet somehow more beautiful than ever.

As Zoe rubbed her eyes and looked on I got straight to work, tightening the screws on the hinges and driving the thick post firmly into the soggy ground. Ever mindful of my spectator I moved with the grace of a swordsman and the poise of a ballerina, my strokes firm but delicate: an exploratory caress here, a smooth thrust of strength there, making love to the gate with my whole being and healing it with my maleness. I am, as I say, a fine actor.

Even as I was adding the final flourish I glanced up at the window and saw that Zoe's face was flushed deep crimson with satisfaction. Drawing her curtains tightly around herself she giggled with delight and waved down at me - her Nigel in shining armour come to fill the yawning chasm of her womanly needs.

With a wave of the hand I dismissed myself, packed up my things and drove away. The pleasure, as they say, was all mine.

Until next time, then.

N.H.