I had read the credits and there had been no mention of Tiernan. He paled. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

‘Em, I think, Jeremy, the gentleman would, ah, probably prefer to hear from you.’

‘Look at him,’ Gill said, pointing again. ‘He’s gone all quiet now. You see, myself and Tiernan have known each other a long time, haven’t we?’

Gill’s voice had taken on the hectoring tones of a schoolyard bully.

‘Yes,’ Tiernan said, so quietly that the microphone hardly registered the sound.

‘I first met this guy when he was just out of UCD with first class honours in something or other, English, I think. And he wanted to be a film-maker, as I recall. How’s that goin’ for you?’

‘Ah, not great, Jeremy,’ Tiernan said, to the sound of a few nervous laughs from the audience.

‘All together now “Aw”.’

To my astonishment, most of the audience went along with it, as if Gill was the pantomime Ugly Sister to Tiernan’s Cinderella.

‘Well, yeah, to cut to the chase, he wasn’t up to much. You see, I had those years in ads behind me – a crap degree from UCD, mind you, but experience of the world. That’s what really counts. We had to put Mister Top o’ the Class here making the tea. That’s what I put in the credits, actually – d’you remember, Tiernan? Tea McDevitt?’

‘Oh yeah, I remember all right,’ Tiernan said.

‘Good for you it was, I’m sure,’ Gill said.

‘Good enough to make sure I never worked on another film, anyway. Went down a different road. And it seems to be working out okay …’

It was excruciating to watch. Before Gill had a chance to say anything else, I started clapping for Tiernan’s last comment and the rest of the audience joined in. Gill realised that he was losing the crowd. Instantly, he was warm and avuncular again, the version of Jeremy he had been on stage the previous night. After a few minutes, the audience settled; mollified, it seemed.

There was nothing else of significance until the final question. A young woman who said she was a recent drama graduate from UCC asked Gill about the casting process: if he used casting directors, what he thought about them, and if they were an important part of his crew.

‘No,’ Gill said. ‘Totally overrated as far as I’m concerned. I do my own casting, prefer to develop a relationship with the actors myself from the beginning.’

‘Is that ’cause of the casting couch, Jeremy?’ a wit shouted from the audience, to general hilarity but to the embarrassment of the unfortunate woman who had asked the original question.

Lightning fast, Gill replied in a broad Dublin accent:

‘I gave up on the casting couch years ago. ’Twas doin’ me back in.’