Sunday afternoon in Toluca Lake, and I’m squished in a black SUV with six other people, having my ears pinned back by the most famous teenager in America. In the front passenger seat, maintaining a dainty Deep South elegance and coiffure in the Los Angeles heat, her grandma. In the back, two of her PRs. To her right, a handsome young chap in a vest and boy-band hair. To her left, balancing tape recorder on knee, me, the first British journalist to be allowed proper access to her world.
And in the middle, telling us all where to sit, fast-talkin’, gum-crackin’, God-fearin’ Miley Cyrus: star of Disney TV series Hannah Montana, top-selling pop singer, record-breaking live performer, record-breaking movie star, daughter of mulletted Nineties