Agent Max Screwum puts the receiver back in its cradle, then gently tips the ash from his cigar into the ashtray.

The walls of his Soho office are adorned with autographed black and white pictures of stars of stage, screen and sport, however, even the most casual of observers, couldn't fail to notice that all the signatures look remarkably similar, and are all in the same black magic marker.

Max awaits the arrival of his star client - his only client - and as he hears footsteps on the stairs, quickly lifts the telephone receiver and 'continues' an imaginary conversation. "Yes, yes, that's fine," he says. "premiere at the Odeon Leicester Square on the fifteenth, yes I'll try and bring Michael and Catherine, I know they're in the country."

There's a knock at the door, at which point Max 'interrupts his 'conversation'. "Come in," he shouts.

In walks Jenson Button.

Max points to the 1960s basket chair that is suspended from the ceiling by a rather frayed cable, he beckons to the youngster to climb into it.

"Yes, yes, I do believe Posh and Becks will be able to make it, and maybe I can convince my very good friend George Clooney to make an appearance, he's making a movie in London."

He smiles at Jenson, who is looking at the pictures on the wall, silently considering their authenticity. "OK ducky, must go," says Max, "I've got one of my star clients here.

"Jenson Button," he replies to the 'voice at the other end', "yes Button… the racing driver. That's the one. OK, bye."

He replaces the receiver in the cradle, then smiles at Button.

"Ah, Jenson my boy, how are you?"

"I'm fine thank you, Mr Screwum sir," he replies.

"Now, first thing's first," says Max. "I've had that Pitpass editor on the phone, he wants to know if there's anything you'd be willing to donate to his tsunami auction?"

Button removes a plastic bag from his pocket and hands it across the desk. Max opens the bag and looks at the pair of white and blue overalls, sadly wiping the BMW badge. "Yes," he sniffs, "you won't be needing these!

"Now Jenson, last year was bloody good," he continues. "You had a great year, and totally silenced the critics. I'm convinced that we are about to reap the rewards."

"I do hope so, Mr Screwum sir," says Button.

"Following the success of the BBCi campaign, which of course led to that highly prominent Burton Menswear endorsement, I've had had all manner of people on at me, the bloody phone's been red-hot."

Button smiles, shifting slightly in his seat, which causes it to swing violently.

"Yes," Max continues, "DFS are very keen to have you endorse their new Italian range of sofas. I've also had interest from Admiral Insurance - that's the one with the parrot - while Curry's wants to pair you with Linda Barker, I hear that 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here," is also rather keen.

"Jenson, my boy, this is it," he continues. "This year, I truly believe I can get you deals running into two, three.. four figures."

"Ooh, thank you, Mt Screwum sir," says the youngster.

"By the way, where's your father?" asks Max, "He's normally here taking notes."

"I think he said something about going to meet a man in Woking," he replies, "I think it was that comedian, Les Dennis, at least that's what I think he said. He thinks there might be a job for me."

Max smiles nervously.

"OK Jenson, now you may be aware that ITV has lost its sponsor for the second year running."

"No I didn't know that, Mr Scerwum sir," Button replies, looking down at his trainers which are swinging several feet above the floor.

"Yes, first it was Toyota then The Daily Telegraph," says Max, "not having a lot of luck are they?"