I could tell from his gaze over my shoulder that he had no interest in my tale. He interrupted without the usual unspoken consent.

‘Look, it’s fine, Gary, I hadn’t even noticed you weren’t here to be honest – ha ha ha! Here, listen, I’ve got a legal question for you.’

‘Well, I know I work at a solicitors but…’

‘That’s good enough for me. I’m not looking for advice, it’s just I came up with what I think is an interesting legal conundrum – ha ha ha – so listen up. What do you reckon to this: this morning, right, I was having a coffee, on me own, at a table outside a café on the high street. Now on the table next to me was this couple, and they seemed a bit fidgety – a bit unresolved, if you like. I’ve sniffed them out as a pair of illicits – you know, having an affair or whatever – ha ha ha! So, just to pass the time, I turned my phone towards them and started a video recording – you know, just for the thrill of it. I recorded about twenty seconds and played it back to myself using my wireless ear buddies – ha ha ha! You could hear what they were saying absolutely clear as a bell – something about going to Dubai for a posh burger – but in the background you could hear the music playing in the café. I think it was Coldplay, maybe Oasis – who gives a fuck…’

My mind drifted away for a moment and I looked over Brendan’s shoulder towards the end of the bar. A pretty, dark-haired woman, probably a few years younger than me, was sat alone staring at her phone and sipping on a gassy drink. I acknowledged withinward that I fancied her then refocused my attention on Brendan.

‘So, the question I’m contemplating is this: if I had to play that video in court as part of my evidence, would the court have to pay royalties to Coldplay or Oasis? And, what’s more, could either of those bands refuse to have the tape played without their permission? What do you think, Gary?’

‘Err, it’s a solid query, but not one I can help you with, Brendan. I know fuck all about copyright law. I just help with conveyances, drafting up wills, taking statements – that sort of shit.’

As I was speaking, I glanced along the bar again and noticed that the dark-haired lass was staring directly at us, all the while continuing to fiddle with her phone. Bit of a sullen expression, I thought to myself, but she might be interested in me, or what I attempt to represent.

‘So, Brendan, what’s going on with you at the moment? You got a lovely big pile of investigations keeping you afloat?’