Frankie Goes to New York

<<<Frankie (left) enjoying his time in New York


On 23 Aug 2006, I finally received the email confirmation that I had been secretly praying for, "Frankie Valley" it read, "will be available to meet with you in New York."

Suddenly an overwhelming sense of fear and trepidation enveloped my body, though that may upon reflection have been due to a fear we wouldn't sign a central midfielder before deadline day.

Frankie Valley for the unitiated is arguably the Charlton blogger par excellence. Formerly with the Four Seasons (the hotel chain, not the backing group), he has developed his blog from humble beginnings to a site that is at the very forefront of technological and literary innovation (steady on - Ed.).

My first attempted contact with Frankie was met with short shrift by his publicist who informed me bluntly that, "...Frankie doesn't do interviews (unless there's money involved)." Acutely conscious of keeping his identity a secret, all correspondence was hereafter to be in writing and to a PO Box in Bexleyheath. Ever since 2004, Frankie has been extremely senstive after he was allegedly photographed attending the FA Cup final involving Charlton's arch-rivals Millwall.


After negotiating over several weeks, Frankie finally agreed to meet. All questions however were to be pre-prepared and follow-up questions would be strictly controlled. The location would be kept top secret for fear of the New York Times picking up a scoop, and for most of last Wednesday I was led on a wild goosechase through the streets of Manhattan picking up clues like Anneka Rice on amphetamines.

Finally at around 4.45pm, I picked up the following clue pinned to a phone box near Times Square, "Andy Reid called up for a foul at the end of the first half." Now abstract reasoning was never my strong point, yet here I was desperately trying to decpiher a clue or else my chance would be gone, perhaps forever. After all, as his publicist informed me, "..Frankie doesn't like being kept waiting."

Andy Reid? What could that imply? Left-footed? A pub on the left hand side of the street perhaps? But that would depend which way I am facing? Called up for a foul? A tackle from behind maybe? Does he want me to meet him a the back entrance to a pub for fear of being spotted entering the front? At the end of the first half? Does this mean injury time? Will I recognise him by a slight limp?

What other images does Andy Reid conjur up? Weight of course? He's fat, he's obese, he's.....he's a pig! And called up for a foul means you heard the whistle? And the end of the first half is the 45th minute? He wants to meet me at the Pig & Whistle pub in 45 minutes!

I raced to West 47th Street where the venerable pub and tourist trap was located, and waited patiently for the great man to turn up. And then at 5.30pm on the dot, and true to his word, a well-dressed man sauntered over to my table, thrust out his hand and declared, "Hi, I'm Frankie." He was slightly older than I imagined, more wise sage than young punk. Nervously offering him a drink, he remained cryptic to the last, "I'll have a tomato juice thanks....perhaps with something hot in it." Hot in it? What on earth does he mean? A tomato juice with an espresso thrown in?

In fairness to the man, despite the convoluted route that led to our meeting, he was charming to a fault. I think he understood that unlike him, I did not have the opportunity to 'talk Charlton' very often these days. In line with my signed pre-meeting agreement, I cannot divulge anything further about the conversation but Frankie has kindly publicised our meeting on his own blog. Perhaps this is the greatest honour of all.