Hi! Believe it or not, I’m a world famous actor. No really, I am. Hey! Don’t put the book back! Let me explain . . . You may not recognise my name – or my face for that matter – but it’s very likely you’ve seen me at work. I’ve managed to cram quite a bit into my thirty-year acting career. In fact I’ve helped put more bums on cinema seats than Will Smith or Tom Hanks. Who else can say that they’ve helped destroy a Death Star? Defeated an evil sorceress? Taught magic to Harry Potter? Become a Jedi Master? Reluctantly hitchhiked across the galaxy in search of the answer to the Ultimate Question? Or embarked (six times, no less) on a psychotic killing spree as a gold-obsessed leprechaun? I’ve also performed in a jazz club with the late, great Ray Charles, been kicked in the head by Ricky Gervais (twenty-three times) and have successfully navigated the Peterborough one-way system on more than one occasion. You may also have noticed that, at three-foot-six, I am ever so slightly below average height. My genes are arranged in a vaguely peculiar manner, which means I have a disorder that no one can pronounce (spondyloepiphyseal dysplasia congenita – go on, try!) and very few people understand. This has thrown up its own trials and tribulations – particularly when my wife and I tried to start a family – but also in an everyday kind of way – surviving a supermarket shopping trip, getting into fights with drunks, that sort of thing. So, without further preamble – except to add that George Lucas, Carrie Fisher, Val Kilmer, Ron Howard, Ricky Gervais (amongst others) have chipped in – I urge you, discerning reader, to read on and discover what life is like when it really is too short. At the very least, George Lucas will finally explain why there really is no underwear in space – and who wouldn’t want to know that?