—This is a great fuckin’ group, said Outspan. —I must say. Even the skivvies wear fuckin’ monkey suits. —I’m no skivvy, said Jimmy. —I’m your fuckin’ manager, pal. —An’ don’t you forget it, said James. —Fuckin’ righ’, said Jimmy.) There was more room in Jimmy’s jacket so Dean could still lift the sax up high. Billy didn’t knock over any drums. Joey The Lips showed Jimmy how to use the mixer. —So all I have to do is push these lads up or down a bit when the sound’s a bit gammy? —That’s correct, said Joey The Lips. —That’s great, said Jimmy. —There’s nothin’ to it. Anny fuckin’ dope could do tha’. I might even pull a few birds this way, wha’. Wha’ d’yeh think? Blind them with science, wha’. —It works, my man. ——It works. They finished early, got back into their civvies, and went for a drink. * * * Kick-off was at half-seven. The Commitments said they’d meet at the hall at six. Jimmy was there at five, his dress suit hidden by a snorkel jacket he hadn’t worn since he’d left school.
