The Bar Part II

Some summers linger in the mind. The summer of 71 was like that - a long, sunny strand of empty beach just waiting to be filled in. It seemed that every day as I walked from home to the bar, the sun came out and lit up the streets, just so that I could enjoy the glint in the gardens, the shine of the pavement, the flash of sunlight on the windscreens of passing cars.

No school until September and Paddy Grim had lost no time in assigning me a lengthy schedule of lunchtime shifts in the lounge. I was pleased and spent my short walks calculating how much money I would have earned by the end of August. With tips, I reckoned, enough for a new record player.