Over the years I’ve caught him off guard over a pint or two- he doesn’t drink much anymore- “ these are my gigs, it’s my phone ringing, it’s my business and if anybody tries to take them from me I will destroy them.”

So Friday morning I get this phonecall from him at 10.30am. He never calls. He only sends texts unless it’s a real serious thing.

I don’t want to talk to him. I’m standing in my room that I rent in a house. The blinds are drawn down and my bed is covered with the costume changes and props for the day ahead. On account of it being Halloween I’ve got more than a normal day laid out. There’s a severed leg, two brains, and someone’s heart for good measure thrown into the usual mix of balloons and facepaints and magic bags.