Sitting on a table just offstage, on a purple velvet ultra plush pillow, dining on a small (and I mean small) tray of gourmet chocolate bon bons and a porcelain teacup full of water with a slight lemon twist sat the esteemed Sir Prince of All Cosmos, the esteemed and highly decorated veteran of fine theatre of cinema. Booking him for the gig had been no small feat, including miles and miles of paperwork and his agent demanding a private trailer, personal assistant and a special chef to cut all the green room food into teeny weeny pieces for him.

He was working on his memoir between takes.