He didn’t think he was being selfish. At first-during the first week or so-he’d felt a bit guilty, a bit of a bollix, because Bimbo was so miserable and he was the opposite. He couldn’t wait to get up and out in the mornings, like a fuckin’ kid on his summer holliers. But he didn’t think that way any more. Because he was helping Bimbo really. He wasn’t denying that he was delighted that Bimbo wasn’t working—not that he’d told anyone—but he didn’t have to feel bad about it because, after all, he hadn’t given poor Bimbo the sack and he’d never even wished it. And if Bimbo ever got his job back or got a new one he’d be the first one to slap him on the back and say Sound man. And he’d mean it as well.
But Bimbo was sacked; it was a fact. He was hanging around doing nothing. And Jimmy Sr was hanging around doing nothing, so the two of them might as well hang around and do fuckin’ nothing together. Only, with the two of them, they could do plenty of things. Playing pitch and putt by yourself on a cold March morning could be very depressing but with someone else to go around with you it could be a great bit of gas. And it was the same with just walking along the seafront; and anything really.
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