At the interval, I decided to find out. I ducked past the reverential crowd of black polo necks. (If I see one more black polo neck. . . ) I found Edward at the bar. Would he like to talk? "It'll have to be quick, " he said, "I'm going for a pee." I know his uncle was taken with all things scatological, but this time it had more to do with a genuine need. (The free bar was well stocked. It even sold fizzy orange, which I haven't seen up close since the mid-'80s. ) He must have lots of fond memories of his uncle. "Yes, I have." That is, to share? Edward shrugged. Where would he begin? I guess. He smiled in agreement. No soundbites at the ready? Oh, well.

Nothing wrong with that.

What's his favourite Beckett play?

"They all have their moments." Which one really cracks him up? "I wouldn't say I'm cracked up by any of them."

(Me neither. I couldn't stop thinking of Eddie Rockets' chocolate milkshakes during the first half of the trilogy, so I left thereafter. ) What did he think of Molloy? "It has its moments." How does Edward think the centenary is going? "Pretty good."

How does he think this conversation is going? "Pretty good." (I thought I'd slip that one in, but he was too quick for me. ) How would he describe his uncle? Irreverent? Introspective?

Outgoing? Funny? "Yes." Excuse me?

"You've just described him." But I never knew him. "He was all of those things, depending on the company."

Oh, dear. I finally released Edward to the mensroom. This interval was 15 minutes, but we were cautioned that the next interval would only be five.

That's only enough time for the audience to get up, walk outside and go back to their seats like lemmings.

Samuel, I think, would have liked to see that.

I thanked Edward for the interview and wished his bladder well. "I'm sure you'll make something of it, " he said, glancing down at my notes. Easy for him to say.