Bowie, in any case, was my star; and like any other star his every whim, fear, demand or tantrum would have to be dealt with as promptly as possible, and at the smallest possible expense to the production budget. There was a moment when filming might have ground to a halt: this was when the star became convinced that someone or something had poisoned his preferred tipple, a glass of skimmed milk. He claimed to see some strange matter swimming about in the liquid, and was ill for two days afterwards. On another occasion there was a fuss because the star’s mobile dressing room had been set up on a site which he felt must be an old Indian burial ground. There were no grave markers, sign-posts, artefacts or any other necrological indications, but we moved the dressing room anyway.