"El Viscera", the latest pop-bordering-on-rock superstar, adored by millions, bane of hotel and venue staff from here to Vegas, was in town.
Everything had to be just "so": the selected jelly bean flavours that changed every week, the out-of-season fruits left untouched, exotic blossoms, special still and sparkling waters, expensive colognes and bath oils, the legal highs I'm contracted never to mention. The tantrums, haughty rudeness, we have to endure.
Not long now.
"Exiting car park, Skip!" squawked my private frequency.
"Stand down," I announced over the security channel, "El Vis has left the building."