Ask the average film lover why they love cinema, and many people will say they like the fact that it can take you anywhere. You can go to a country on the other side of the world, into space, back in time; you can go into a totally made up world where tiny characters spend about five three-long hour films exploring vast mountains in search of a magic ring. But you can also get to listen to the thoughts and feelings of a person that you may never get to hear from in real life; and not all of these people are very nice. Murderers, serial killers, flesh-eating aliens etc.

But there is one type of person that has graced our screens for a very long time that for some reason, constantly gets a bad rap. The geezer. The tracksuit wearing, sweary, petty criminal who talks about birds, football and drugs. Most people would rather listen to Hannibal Lecter talk about eating people. The mere whisper of Danny Dyer’s name is enough to swiftly turn upwards the noses of those who profess to love independent cinema. But that is not fair. Everyone should love Danny Dyer.