James takes his place, minder by his side. Girl after girl after girl files past, shakily composed. "loved you in the musical episode," says one, her voice betraying every sticky insecurity of her burgeoning womanhood. "Thanks," says James. charming to a fault. "What was your favourite song in it?" he asks, and she giggles like the lucky cheerleader who's been asked to the prom by the team captain. "Er... your one!" she exclaims and is ushered off, ready for his next trembling fan.

Fast-rewind two hours. The SFXers are returning, bleary of eye and weary of step, from our hotels the soggy Monday after the drunken Sunday. The deal is we interview James on his way to the signing in Leeds. The original intention had been to do it at the Event itself. but we couldn't have foreseen the crazed Beatlemania-like intensity of The James Marsters Experience. The Leedssigning is nothing compared to Blackpool's three days of Marsters madness. We worked him hard, and he was the convention organiser's dream guest. Lesser men would have cried off, citing writer's cramp, others might have done a hissy fit at the sheer amount (and when I say amount, I mean amount) of photos and figurines being slapped down on the table in front of them. But not our James. No, not our James.

So off Jayne and I go to pick Marsters up from his opulent hotel a few miles from Blackpool. Its a world away from our hotels, all badly burnt toast and wall-mounted Princess Di plates. James meets us in the miles-long courtyard, looking like the healthiest man alive. "Hi, man," he says, offering his hand. We talk the small for a few minutes, while Mike, the driver stacks up the people carrier with the toppling piles of Spike photos ready for the Leeds signing. We chat books with James. "What are you reading at the moment?" I ask. "Alec Guiness' autobiography." he answers, "It's fantastic!" Jayne, like the girl that she is, notices his ring, given to him a day before by a fan. "Oh, I've got lots of jewelry," he reveals, "but it's all real goth stuff!

Seeing the reaction to James Marsters in Blackpool was akin to seeing Sinatra mobbed in Vegas or Billy Graham worshipped at a soap box rally. We were told of one teen whose legs gave way mere seconds after meeting him. Even friends -- professional, stable thirtysomethings all -- were asking me to get the guy's autograph, and subsequently grilling me on what the real James Marsters is like.

"You've got to monitor the scream very carefully," he confides, as we begin our drive. "The screams are growing though, because I've shown my nipples. I think next year they're going to try to tone it down, so I think it might be calmer the next time I come over. But that happens when you push the envelope like that. "There was one girl who couldn't make speech," he says, slightly incredulously. "That had never happened to me before! She went to talk and nothing came out. I really felt for her because I know she had a great expectation about what it would be like to meet me and she was probably an intelligent and charming girl, but the TV show builds me up with a kind of mystique."

It's still an odd sight though, to see a horde of heaving bosoms screaming their little lungs out for someone who is -- at the end of the day -- simply flesh and blood, albeit with perfect cheekbones.

Marsters claims he isn't one for heroes, not now, not in the screaming sense. I used to get a bit starstruck with movie actors when I was a theatre actor. But I think that's because I didn't know where the strings were. Robert De Niro would have just floored me, though. I couldn't have gone into a room and spoken intelligently with him at all. But now I know how it's done in movies a little more. Whereas, De Niro is still an amazing actor, he's no longer a god."

But is it a price you have to pay to work in the medium, to lose that wide-eyed wonder?"Not really," he retorts. "There are other things that are interesting. I like to know where the strings are. Originally, I wanted to sell out and get out. I wanted to make a bunch of cheap money and get back to theatre. But I fell in love with the medium. I love TV and film now."

But television and film is far less an actors medium than the theatre. That's invariably why the better ones always go back there, suffering on bargain basement wages for a dose of artistic Viagra. Marsters, even if his initial cynicism of film has waned, is still a stage loyalist. He began theatre companies in Seattle and Chicago. putting on work by the likes of Steven Berkoff and George Walker ("We liked dangerous plays," he notes).

"Neither TV or film is an actor's medium." he sighs. "As an actor, you're one small building block for someone to tell the story later. To come into TV hurt, because they didn't tell you the story and they didn't care if you knew the story and as a stage actor that's like taking away your life preserver. You get to feel that there's no job at all. that there's nothing that you do which is valuable." He pauses. "But now I realise its just a much more subtle job. I found it to be surprisingly challenging. I wasn't happy with my initial work at all and it took me a long time to actually enjoy watching myself. Now I kinda do. I've calmed down."

But he's got to admit -- and he frequently does -- that he is lucky working on Buffy. Not many TV casts have the luxury of liking -- or even knowing -- their primary writer, but Joss Whedon is. we're told, "a pal". Marsters says that it's true that the cast and Whedon are so close now that things said privately do end up script-bound.

You just think. 'You son of a bitch. what are you doing! Why did I become friends with you?, " he laughs. "I've been ruminating about this, because this has really started to happen dramatically now. I think it's maybe Marti influence, or maybe they know me better or maybe they've run out of their own ideas and they're just picking on our flesh! They're exposing me, man! I almost feel like I'm trying to hide on the soundstages and they just hit this bright light -- 'Here he is!' It's also exhilarating, because ultimately although I feel like they've exposed my weaknesses and my foibles and insecurities, all through it, added to the sum, I'm beautiful in all my insecurities and weaknesses and pitifulness."

Marsters is probably Whedon's best public mouthpiece for Buffy. He understands why it works, understands its metaphorical underpinnings and he's insanely proud of the show. He pays lip service to Whedon wherever possible and, even if those Emmy bods don't recognise it, he knows what they're doing is important.

"Joss takes what could be mundane and paints vampires and demons over it and suddenly it becomes more romantic and more potent," he enthuses. "I was talking to somebody yesterday saying that I'm in image of death. They're a way in which people can think about death safely.

"We really don't talk about death day to day at all. We don't even visit our elders in cemeteries in the way other cultures do. We really shun away from it. But we DO have vampires and it's a little bit sexy and we don't have to be quite so afraid of it.

So. it's kind of therapeutic, then?

"Yeah!" he exclaim!" his voice going up an octave or three. "It's art! That's why I'm so tickled! That's why I'm such a happy actor! What I I like about Buffy is that it speaks about who we really are. And that sometimes is not so comfortable and sometimes its even painful."

Especially the last season, which upped the adult content considerably...

"For Europe the content of last season wasn't that surprising, but for America it was way over the boards," he said.

" I found myself in the strange position of defending my show in front of a bunch of press, just to have Joss undercut me by saying, 'Oh no, that was too far,' I'm like, 'Noooo, that's what happens when you grow up, come on, man.' You have unhealthy relationships with guys and guys'll be mean to you and you have to learn that through trial and error, and that's what Buffy did.'

And what if Buffy did make it to the big screen. despite its lead star's reported reservations? Would he want the freedom to delve deeper into this adult world and thus suffer an -- admittedly creatively liberating -- 18 certificate?

'Oh no -- PG," he says, mock-horrified. "it I had a daughter of six or seven or eight years old, I wouldn't want her to watch it alone certainly. I'd have to watch it with her and talk to her about it. I talk about Joss too much, but he said, 'Kids should watch TV that's too old and films that arc too old -- that's how you grow up.'

Oh. I agree.- says our Jayne, who's positioned herself next to the man. "I missed sex education at school and learnt everything about it through TV."

James smiles. "Oh, I learnt about that on the other side of the tracks...

He seems blissfully at ease with British culture. Six years of playing this peroxided limey seems to have upped his interest in this lonely island. He uses the word "bum" with calm self-assurance and knows his Malcolm McClaren from his Malcolm X. He talks a lot about British theatre and its best writers and you feel that playing Spike has intensified his spiritual connection to Britain.

I've always valued social grace very much." he says, reflecting on the British character. "It's my theory that the more intimate you come into contact with someone, you need grace to get along, and Americans are almost proud of their lack of it, and there's something refreshing about that. America's like a 16 year old. Unfortunately that 16 year old has a gun. But 16 year olds come up with refreshingly original ideas, even though they can be obnoxious. It's terrifying our lack of knowledge of the world arid its history -- even our own! That's the really horrifying thing -- Europeans know our history better than we do! "He pauses for dramatic effect. "Not me, though."

The boy Marsters is pretty adept at giving his braying audience what they want, but still holding enough back for the mystique to be kept pristinely intact. He's good at playing the rock 'n' roll sex god. He has a way of standing that means his hand is rarely not pointing toward his much-desired groin. But away from the camp Iggy Pop posturing, he's a thoughtful and -- apologies for this -- unusually intelligent guy for the LA actor scene. He comes originally from the Steinbeck-raptured landscapes of Greenville, California. For him, though, Los Angeles. was never a Mecca. It was simply the last call on a countrywide exploration of his own land.

"I bummed around America." he reflects, "New York, Chicago, Seattle, mostly, before I came to LA, and I initially thought I was going to sell out again and live in a horrible place and grit my teeth and get through it. Driving down there, though, I decided that LA is a very large city and if I wanted to find beauty there, I could find it and if I wanted to find a hell hole, I'd probably find that too. But I don't really deal with Los Angeles."

So, you're not likely to be venturing down the Viper Room with the LA cool cars anytime soon, then?

"No! But I'm about to be!" he says. "I'm playing the Viper Room. I won't be drinking there, but I will be playing."

Ah, James Marsters' band. They're called Ghost Of The Robot. "Sounds like an anime title," says Jayne. "It's a metaphor," Marsters says of the name. "It's talking about how, often in life, things happen to you where your ghost -- the real you -- kind of goes away. If that happens, you're a robot and you're pretty much defenceless. If your ghost comes back it can be very horrible and painful, but you can be reclaimed and not be empty and hollow." He pauses and straightens himself up, as if suddenly hearing the possible pretension. "It's just a highfaluting way of talking about your soul, really!" Acquitted, James. Marsters plays guitar sings and has written "two or three tracks" on their forthcoming album, and is working on four more for the album after it. He seems hungry for this new challenge. "We put out an album before we even rehearsed together as a band!" he informs us.

"The band's sound is very heavy," Marsters says. "Do you know a band called Morphine? If you take away the sax from that, you get a really bass-driven sound." There's a pause and Marsters closes his eyes. Music is about to enter the car. "We are bitter opposites," he croons. "it stings when you hit me, like a kick to the head, when I heard what you said, did you even consider you were making us bitter; I guess you're justified because of your weak mind, when our lips first met, you didn't get the hang of it ... " We applaud. "This stuff is pretty much brought out of pain. I hope the next album can be a little more light," he tells us, unconvincingly.

James Marsters music taste values integrity as much as his theatre and telly work. At the moment, he says, he's replenishing his Bob Dylan collection (though, surprisingly, he means on CD -- he's no vinyl loyalist. "Although generally I agree with Tom Perry," be says, "that CDs are like ice and vinyl is like rain," and of the current crop, back-to-basics blues-rockers The White Stripes are a shiny disc fave."They did a great album!" he says, before jumping to a rendition of their hit "Hotel Yorba" (we appreciate it). "I tend to like music that's written some place than the boardroom. It's a very specific sound they do -- it's calculated, it's commercial." He's not quite so cynical about the movie industry. He's keen to dispel a few myths that the Hollywood top brass are imbecilic philistines cynically peddling us lobotomixed film fodder with the social conscience of a school gate smack dealer. You have to believe the honesty of his opinions, but it seems a slightly naive view tainted by his innate philanthropic nature.

"On the whole, the industry is run by really intelligent well-read people who aren't that cynical, people who are operating in a commercial atmosphere, but who are also trying to say something. There are fewer people over there who are just there for money. In their hearts, they have a dream of saying something. It's polluted really, because it takes so much money to make a film that the getting and the processing of money is so important, that you can spend more of your time in that world and start to lose the reason of why you went them.

"The last film that really rocked me was Memento -- I loved that!" he continues. "Fabulous! At the convention I was like, 'That's Joe... that's Joe ... Ohmygodl He's a very good actor! He's brilliantly himself! There's no better thing, because it takes a lot of courage to do that, to simply know that you yourself are interesting enough and the audience will respond without you putting on any extra facade. That's the secret of acting. You've got to realise that, more than anything, people are paying for the right to stare at you. It's not polite in real life, so we don't get to learn as much, we just glance off. But if you can really stare at someone, you can learn a lot."

"Jeez, I'm really aware of that now," I say, abruptly aware that Marsters' eyes are burning into my unworthy soul. He laughs a hearty laugh. "See what I mean?!" he guffaws.

Okay, to business, "Are we onto Buffy again?" he asks. Yup. And here's the question. and I half expect him to fluff the answer at the behest of the Fox bods. The question of Buffy's currently filming season being its last is common currency in the TV news pages, but most of the cast have dodged the probing in various ingenious ways.

"I've heard it's the last," he confesses. "But then I heard they were going to do a year without Sarah ... " He trails off.

What about a Spike spin-off show?

"I would love my own show, but I don't think Spike is a character that could carry a show," he says. "You can't have a character who's evil as the lead. Not in America."

"What about The Sopranos, though?" suggests Jayne. "Surely, if the writing's good enough..."

"He's not an inherently evil person, Tony Soprano," he points out. "He's trying to be good. He's a family man trying to love his family. He'z in therapy trying to learn about himself and face himself. He's trying to figure out why he's so violent and angry. He's no Spike -- Spike enjoys it."

So. does he think the best way to finish Spike off in the series would be having him "dusted"?

"if Spike doesn't change, that would be the most interesting way to resolve it." he says. "If the chip came out we'd really have to face what we didn't want to look -- at the whole time -- this guy is a jerk!"

Marsters looks out of the window. "Looks like we're here," he says, and Leeds looms over us. When we arrive opposite the store we literally have to smuggle him in. Inside, the girls begin to file through. "Cheers for talking to us, James. Good luck, mate," I say, shaking him by the hand, "Hey, man, no problem," he replies, and Jayne and I slope off to disappear past the seething mass of hormones.

James Marsters. Nice bloke.