The Oscar-winning, BAFTA-nominated international actor, Haydende Merle sprinted through the foyer of the BBC’s Broadcasting House, and out into the morning sunshine of London’s Portland Street, leaving a trail of open-mouthed security guards (‘Sir! Your name tag if you please!’), a harassed receptionist (‘I don’t care who he is, get that TAG!), and an adoring window cleaner (‘Loved your last film!’ ‘Cheers mate! Here’s a tag! It’s signed!’). Hayden knew where his car would be waiting. The space had been reserved with orange bollards outside a foreign embassy. He yanked open the driver’s door. ‘Bob, would you mind getting out?’Hayden was trying to sound calm. Any minute now, his publicist would be sprinting across the courtyard, so there wasn’t much time. Bob was a good-natured kind of guy and clambered out. ‘Problem, sir?’ ‘Not any more. Where’s the central locking on this thing?’ Sure enough, in the distance, Hayden could…