Robbie Wotchit, kid. Well, if I felt the need to harass the Hellish Host every time I had a question, I'd run out of favors right fast. But fine, I can respect that.
So I've noticed. Whatever happened to the art of the secret identity? Blokes run around in spandex in broad daylight like Brixton walkers. S'gotta be bad for business. An' 'fore you pull the 'master mystery' card again, s'rhetoric, innit?