I went into town/city specifically to find Jimmy to give him a copy of my book. He wasn't outside the indoor market on his usual pitch so I headed for Central Library. I had a feeling that he'd been moved on. As I passed the Tabernacle Chapel, on the right just before you get to the opening of Caroline Street, I saw this poster in neon day glow. I had to take a picture didn't I. It says "You cannot measure wealth with the euro or pound but in terms of love and sacrifice". Town is getting busier as we move closer to the 'alleged' birth date of Jesus. I can sense the tension and disappointment in the air already, but then I can sense that everyday and perhaps it's just mine. I thought one last go and walked up to St John's Square again. Jimmy wasn't there although there was a guy clutching a can of grog close to his breast and muttering the eulogy. I got to St Mary Street and instead of diving down Westgate Street like a scuttling rat to avoid the thronging mass, I decided to brave it and as I crossed Wood Street, there sitting on the corner by Greggs was Jimmy. He looked ashen. I shook his one good arm, threw a couple of gold sovereigns in his cap, gave him the book with dedication and said that I'd buy him something to eat and drink when I saw him again. I asked him whether they'd moved him on from the market and he said that they did it all the time. If you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about, you can read Jimmy's story here.
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