Key (37 now) wades back into Soho, climbs into his poetry clothes and leans against his mic stand for another hour.

Now charming, he will recollect simple tales of love, gaze dead-eyed at the ladies, recite verse and do basic talking. A lot of fairly grubby water’s sloshed under Key’s bridge of late so he’ll be churning that up. He’s also fairly interested to lift the lid on Hollywood and there will be some Indian poetry, Indian beer and, if he can get his act together, a spotlight. Other potential themes will be owls and maybe fairies.

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