Sir Ian McKellen

All right, and while you're out, shall I rustle us up something?

A little omelette?

Don't sound so surprised.

Yeah, cheese omelet.

That's an omelet with cheese.

Yeah.

How do you introduce the cheese into the omelet?

Yeah.

Excellent teamwork.

And you don't even have a drink, but maybe later on.

No, I haven't got it.

And I haven't even seen it.

But I've only seen the poster.

That sums it up, really.

The Christophers are a series of paintings which my character painted some time ago and abandoned, and they're up in his attic somewhere in his ramshackle house, and I'm not quite sure where it is, in the middle of London somewhere.

And his two greedy children are eager to rescue these, what they hope are masterpieces, so that they can sell them when he dies.

The trouble is, they're not masterpieces, because they're not finished.

They're paintings that he began and didn't complete.

More than that, you needn't know.

Well, he's not David Hockney, and he's not Francis Bacon, who used to live next door, incidentally.