He said firm, a distinct irritation in his voice. Sandy Field was incensed. Signing an autograph was one thing but discussing his work with this wannabe was another thing completely. Over the years he rarely had time for other comedian’s advice, comedy was a personal thing and not for public debate and then, at the end of his career, he cared for it less than ever before.
…I’m tryin’ to have a quiet drink – I’m not interested in discussing my bloody work, ya understand?
Of course. You’re right, I understand. Sorry, and thank you, maybe another time, then?
Yeah, some other time kid. Goodbye.
Sandy said insincerely and waved the youth away. Jackson continued to apologise as he retreated, and he watched him go, and for a brief moment, he felt a breeze of pity as the young man sunk from view.
Ya handled that well.
Sandy grumbled, and downed the last of his brandy. Noticing his old friend’s lingering delight, Sandy had to ask:
Was that you, mate?
Trevor replied, still without control of his smile.
Did ya do that, mate? Was that me present?