They wouldn’t open the doors for the public interview until twenty minutes before the start so I needed to time my arrival for after the long queue of enthusiastic movie nerds but before the more casual Film Festival patron. They are the ones who don’t go to see a film for the rest of the year but during the festival go to everything, from worthy documentaries about rainforest loss in Brazil to feature-length subtitled Czech stop-motion animation. I definitely needed to get there before them. Ten to noon would be about right, and would give me time for a coffee at the House café.

Or it would have, were it not for the crowd. I bypassed the coffee queue and went into the auditorium, finding a single seat, seven rows back and three in from the edge, that gave me a decent view of the stage. Glancing around at the audience, I saw, and waved at, the many familiar faces, the curse and blessing of small town life. What would they say if they knew what I had been up to for the last few days?

I checked my phone before putting it on silent for the duration of the interview. I had a text from Sadie O’Riordan: ‘off at 8 – could meet for food?’

I texted back: ‘Ramen @ 8.15?’

I’d check later but I knew it would be a yes: Sadie loved Thai food.

At 12.05, the curtains parted to reveal two comfortable armchairs and a superfluous lamp on an even more superfluous coffee table. We’re here for a bit of a chat, the tableau proclaimed. It would be interesting to see how much chatting there was. Gill liked the sound of his own voice and I reckoned that poor Tiernan McDevitt, the arts journalist doing the interviewing, would be lucky if he got a word in. After a moment, Alice Chambers came onstage to do the introduction. She was working her way through an impressive range of outfits, I noticed. Having a special guest in town must have sent her on an anticipatory shopping spree. Today she was wearing a striking-looking red dress that finished at the knee. It was probably from Zara: the clothes there always suited her. Tragically, they never looked good on me.

Tiernan McDevitt came onstage first to warm, though muted, applause. He was average height, had average looks, and seemed averagely nervous. Even his clothes were average, I thought, sand-coloured chinos and a blue shirt, the kind of thing a medical student might wear to look professional on ward rounds. Tiernan sat down, then stood again quickly, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited.