"But," he muttered, carefully removing a large prosthestic nose - taking a fake moustache with it, and its glue, "Nobody's ever gotten one wrong before..."
"You worry too much, Rory," a comforting voice came from next to him, "Everyone I know thinks you're the best impressionist in the business."
"So who am I supposed to be now then?" he said, in a strange, nasal tone, after donning another nose. "I bet you don't know, do you?"
"I just don't see why you have to practise them before bed anyway... everybody's tired!"
Hugh would rather it have just been Rory, sitting there in his underpants, pulling faces.
Though, having said that, he'd also willingly accept his Russell Crowe.