He felt good in his mohair suit with its raindrop fleck and creases as sharp as a knife. He glanced down at his snake skin shoes. A tear trickled from his eye.

A tear of nostalgia for he remembered his pet reticulated python, Percy, which had toured with him for so long. The largest reticulated python to ever grace the back seat of a tour bus.

However, Percy’s story is a tragic one. Outside Wembley Arena he tried to swallow a black cab. It proved to be indigestible, not the cab but the taxi driver. A painful and horrible death. He is buried in the Holmes Cemetery in Highgate where, it is said, a strange voice can be still heard at night, extolling the virtues of West Ham FC and apologising for the huge fare just charged.

Enough of nostalgia Freddie thought, “ I hope I die before I am old” but not before I write my definitive works. Pens, pencils, sheets of paper abound in Fast Freddie’s life. No computers for him; he knows that soul never comes from a machine. He is a humanist and preaches rationality in his songs.

So Fast Freddie restlessly writes and performs.