This morning, I swallowed two raw eggs with orange juice,” says Bill Nighy, shooting me a wry sideways glance. “I’m not proud of it.”
It is a bright Tuesday in May, and the actor, all limbs and languid charm, is describing his morning. “I luxuriated a bit, but not much, and got up at 8.15,” he begins. “I turned the music on, and today it was my blues playlist, ‘Let Me Follow You Down’.” He beats out the five words with his fingers. Next: to his local cafe for those raw eggs. “This always makes the very nice lady who works there... well, she has to turn away. After that, I had a couple of savoury pastries and a banana. And I read about Obama, and I came to see you.”
