It was July, 2020. He was sitting by Schull’s pier in west Cork, straw hat perched on his head, legs splayed and arm resting along the length of the blue bench, as his eyes flitted around, anticipating my arrival. Seagulls hovered and swooped, devouring scraps of fish and chips which had fallen from picnic tables, and little boats bobbed while the afternoon sun glinted off rippling waves.  The wind was already whipping my hair around, which meant that I was never going to get a great sound for a recorded interview. No matter. I was more concerned with mentally assessing…

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