Oh for the days when a gentleman could wear a blazer to the airport and not be mocked by feral children...when one could enjoy a leisurely Dunhill in a hansom cab, one’s club was not infested by laptops and the squares of our fair city not blighted by bike parks. A time when an intrepid reporter could enjoy sweet nothings over Camparis with a millionaire’s wife, and not be misunderstood by the grubbier end of Fleet Street. And when ‘reality television’ meant a five-hour cigar lunch at Scotts with charming Lord Grade. It is for these reasons that Fin humbly brings you a wistful homage - via a regular series of video Blogs - to TV’s eternal man of the world (and imaginary Fin Chairman), Alan 'Twicker'...
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