A Quick Drink With Freddie T

After work I arrive at The Ivy Club for a quick drink with my pal and Agent - Freddie Tenenbaum. Unsure, at first as to where he is sitting - I hear him. Loud and clear. Following the noise, I'm guided to a sofa on the far side of the Piano Bar.

He’s on a call and STILL wearing his Ruck Sack on his back. Something must be up.

‘IT’S FORMAN,’ his loud monotone voice instructs the caller.

Sitting down opposite him, he acknowledges my arrival and impatiently continues his telephone conversation.

‘NO. NO. RIGHT. NOW. LISTEN TO ME,’ Freddie snaps. ‘It’s FOR-MAN. I’ll spell it for you . . .’

Freddie was in the middle of arranging for his client - Adventurer Lyons Forman (36yrs), to be air-lifted out of the South Pole and back to Blighty. The former Army hero had broken his collar bone abseiling down the side of an Iceberg for his series, Our Man In … The South Pole for Channel 25.

Having ordered a Peach Bellini and a large glass of Château Lynch-Bages for Me‘lado. I sit back - trying not to let Freddie’s anxiety rub off on me.

He begins to pronunciate each letter, slowly and firmly. ‘F - Yeah. I said F … O …R… M. No, it's ma … for Muppet.’ he says flicking his eyes in the air, ‘A - N. I said N.’

Taking another sip. I click on my mobile to see if anyone has sent me a text. They haven’t.

Freddie, true to form is on a roll. ‘FOR GOD’S SAKE. IS IT EASIER IF I EMAIL YOU MY CLIENTS INSURANCE DETAILS?‘ He listens. ‘RIGHT. I’M DOING IT NOW.’

He clicks off his mobile, signalling the end of the call. Tilting his head to the side, and at the same time pushing his bottom lip out, ‘Soooooooooo. Sorrrrry!’ he says. Not really meaning one word of it, he begins to type furiously onto his Blackberry.