‘And what form did the discrimination take?’

‘Um … well … People wouldn’t accept it,’ I say cautiously. ‘I was ostracized by my community. Friends turned against me and my career suffered. My health, too. I think it’s up to the government and society to change attitudes. Because all humans are the same.’ I’m rather warming to my speech now. ‘All of us, whatever religion we practise or colour skin we have, or, you know, whether we have a hamster or not … we’re the same!’

I make a sweeping gesture and catch Luke’s eye. He’s staring at me from a few yards away, his mouth open.

‘That’s it,’ I finish hastily.

‘Wonderful!’ Dix Donahue leads another round of applause, and this time it feels really genuine. A lady even pats me on the back.

‘One more question before we move on.’ Dix Donahue twinkles at me. ‘What was your hamster’s name, Rebecca?’

‘Er …’ Shit. My mind has gone totally blank. ‘It was … er … called …’

‘Ermintrude,’ comes Luke’s deep voice. ‘She was like family.’

Oh, ha, ha. Very funny.

‘Yes, Ermintrude.’ I muster a smile. ‘Ermintrude the hamster.’

The spotlight finally moves off me and Dix Donahue comes to the end of his speech, and I look up to see Luke giving me a little wink as he approaches through the crowd.

‘I’ll get you a new hamster this Christmas, darling,’ he says over the sound of applause. ‘We’ll fight the discrimination together. If you can be brave enough, so can I.’

‘Shhh!’ I can’t help giggling. ‘Come on, it’s time to eat.’

That’s the last time I make conversation with some random old man just to be kind. As we move back to our table, I’m totally mortified, especially as people keep stopping me to congratulate me and ask about the hamster and tell me about how their kids have a rabbit and they wouldn’t stand for discrimination, it’s shocking in this day and age.

But at last we’re able to sit down, and on the plus side, the food is delicious. I’m so engrossed in my fillet of beef that I don’t pay much attention to the conversation, which doesn’t matter, because it only consists of both Kerrows droning on to the entire table about this Florence Nightingale film they want to make. They talk like some sort of song duet, overlapping every phrase, and no one else can get a word in. This is another lesson I’m learning in Hollywood. You’d think hearing about a film would be exciting – but it’s deathly. I can tell Suze is just as fed up as me, because her eyes are glassy, and also she keeps mouthing ‘Booooriiiing’ at me.

‘… locations are the challenge …’

‘… wonderful director …’

‘… problems with the third act …’

‘… he really gets Florence’s arc …’

‘… talked to the studio about budget …’

‘… finances lined up. We’re waiting on the last investor, but it depends on some British guy with a crazy name. John John Saint John. Kind of a name is that?’ Kerrow spears a mangetout and eats it ferociously.