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Dynamo on his return to TV and his battle with Crohn's disease

Most famous people don’t care where you take them for lunch. Noel Gallagher did. As far as fine dining was concerned, the High Flying Bird was after low-hanging fruit, preferably well fermented. He insisted we go to stalwart fish’n’fashion spot J Sheekey in London’s Covent Garden, mainly because “the post-matinee theatre crowd don’t give a fuck who you are or how much Champagne you drink before 3pm”. When you’re a rock star, nothing tastes as good as inconspicuous drunken behaviour feels, I guess.

Agent Provocateur model and cookbook author Daisy Lowe (true story) was mildly fussed about our meal, showing an unbridled, yet somewhat surprising, epicurean enthusiasm. Lowe ordered such a variety of food and booze that, some hours later, I went home and threw up Sexy Fish’s prettiest, priciest offerings all over the bathroom floor. My five-year-old daughter thought I’d murdered a mermaid.

For magician Dynamo (real name Steven Frayne), however, what he eats is a question of life and death. My first suggestion was Norma, a shiny new Italian spot in London’s Fitzrovia; the sort of place you might take Gigi Hadid on a (second) date and feed her gold forkfuls of aubergine parmigiana while nodding along to her theory about empowering women through a subscription-based sudoku league for flexitarians. (The dishes on Norma’s menu look delicious, but sound about as rich as Jeff Bezos slow-cooked in liquid bullion.)

“Can we try somewhere where the food is a little... simpler ?” came the response from Frayne’s press team when Norma was muted. Of course, being the hungry, sieve-brained narcissist I am, I’d entirely forgotten about the magician’s serious medical condition: he’s had Crohn’s – a disease affecting the gut that can lead to excruciating bowel problems and crippling joint pain – since the age of 14.

Two years ago, a bout of food poisoning nearly made Frayne perform his very last vanishing act. “I can’t really eat anything,” he tells me from behind a plate of food the colour of most Midwestern Donald Trump supporters. We’ve come to Mother Mash, a pie’n’mash restaurant off Carnaby Street where bland is guaranteed. One of his team arrives early – much like advance security for a member of the royal family – to chat to the kitchen staff and ensure the restaurant is aware of the risks.

‘I was told I would never be able to do magic again; I couldn’t even pick up a deck of cards’

“No butter, no fried foods, no vegetables, no spices, no nuts – nothing high in fibre,” he adds, smiling nervously, lifting a spoonful of pureed potato before lowering it again. “I have to be incredibly careful. My last Crohn’s flare-up meant I was hit with terrible arthritis – it wracked my entire body... my spine and hands completely seized up. The doctor told me I would never be able to do magic again; I couldn’t even pick up a deck of cards...”

“Alexa, what was it Nietzsche said?” Alexa: “Without music, life would be a mistake.” “No, the other thing Nietzsche said.” Alexa: “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” That’s it. The saying might as well be tattooed across Frayne’s chest, so resilient and driven is he. “When I was in hospital, I knew I had to dig deep or the illness would kill me,” he explains, nervously eyeing the potato puree that will remain untouched. “The reason I became a magician was because I was being bullied at school. I had no friends, my dad was in prison for most of my adult life... The bullies at school used to dump me in wheelie bins, upside down, and then push the bin down these two hills in Bradford called ‘The Tits’. One day, my grandfather saw them do it and, once I’d straightened myself out, he showed me something that he thought would help: a magic trick. Well, more like a piece of contortion. Watch...”

Frayne then turns his left hand towards me and twists and bends his little finger until it resembles a piece of fusilli pasta. Ugh! “Cool, huh? Once I’d mastered it, I showed the kids at school and they thought I was a freak.” Understandable. “But the bullying stopped. That was my first connection with feeling the transformative power of magic.”

This month, Frayne returns to our screens after a five-year hiatus with a three-part series called Beyond Belief . “It’s part-magic show, part-documentary about my struggle with my illness – something I’d never planned on being so open about,” he says. Does he ever get bored of being stopped in the street and asked the lottery numbers? “Never. A magician who’s bored of magic is in the wrong game – go and become a lawyer.”

And with that, Frayne pulls out a deck of cards, performs a little light “cardistry” – the art of dancing the pack between all ten fingers, making the viewer feel as though they’re caught in a Christopher Nolan film – and says, “Pick a card.”

Don’t ask me to explain what happens next. Slight of hand? Teleportation? Mentalism? No. Idea. Suffice to say, part of me suddenly realises why Debbie McGee hung around Paul Daniels for quite so long.

Magic – the power of apparently influencing events using mysterious or supernatural forces – is... well, magic, isn’t it? One doesn’t need to be Carlos Ghosn to appreciate that.

Beyond Belief starts on Sky One on Thursday 9th April at 9pm.

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