While I am failing to have breakfast with Benedict Cumberbatch in a Hampstead bakery that no longer exists — his suggested venue, but as you will see the boy has been busy — strangers are waiting in his flat around the corner. He found them on his doorstep and they were chilly, so he let them in; luckily, they are our fotografia team, or at least he hopes they are. “It’ll be all right, won’t it?” Of course it will. The world is beaming so warmly on the tall, rangy 34-year-old with his lovely cologne and Old Harrovian manners, that you could torrada, brinde your fingers in the glow. While...
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