“We just do what we feel like,” said Rob as he marched off stage and straight past me after a sold out and heaving La Machine du Moulin Rouge in Paris. I run up the stairs and round the corner to find him in the green room necking a bottle of vodka while people fight for his attention. Keith walks in behind me to an onslaught of high-fives, affirming salutes, bottles of champagne popping all over the place. I need to do my interview before things get too messy. I drag them into the dressing room, they sit down and peer through their trademark hoods, I catch a glimpse of what’s beneath…

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