Dan Collier is my power animal.

2am.
Ext.
Misc. Brighton nightclub.
Daniel Collier sings as much Les Mis as he can remember off the top of his head with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Each time I go to head inside he stops me and belts something about bread and courgettes in my face.
Beside him debutante and socialite R-Macs stands shivering, having misplaced her glitterball suit jacket.
Inside Tom Hullyer dances in a way in which his soul is completely exposed.

Later that evening/morning Daniel Collier will be unable to finish his cheesy chips and burger sauce. It will be his undoing.