Clement Climbs

He'd had a bad journey. Stuck in stationary traffic for four hours, hungry and grumpy, it was my job to ensure all Sir Clement Freud's needs were met. I ushered him into the Green Room where an assortment of posh sandwiches awaited, just as his manager had ordered.

" I don't eat bread. Wheat-intolerant." He disdainfully dismissed my offer to fetch an alternative from Tesco. He wanted a mirror and Listerine. I had neither as they hadn't appeared on his Rider.He rejected a Trebor mint. I had to think fast.

" We share a birthday." Gold. A brief discussion centring around Shirley MacLaine and Barbra Streisand and we were off. He looked at me for the first time, really seeing me.

" Are you married?" No.

"Single?" Smile and nod, vigorously.

" I have a car and a driver outside. Would you like to come to London for the weekend?" Nervous giggle. Was he joking?

During the interval I obediantly sat beside him transcribing questions from the audience into legible script whilst he tucked into the fresh fruit salad that was the only thing available without gluten, wheat, nuts or other potential peer poisons.

" Watermelon is the strongest aphrodisiac known to man. Far more effective than Viagra. Do you think I should have another helping?"

I looked him in the eye, didn't flinch at the wink and calmly declared that he'd had enough.