Wow. Seriously rude. Jim pretends to play with the dog a minute more, then gets up and pulls his shirt back on. There's a pair of shades in the pocket; he puts them on too, and wanders after Autor. When he gets into the kitchen, he pulls himself up to sit on the counter, feet dangling and heels knocking on the cupboard door.

'Never thought he'd get himself a live-in one. I wouldn't even say you're his type. I was starting to think he didn't have a type, except me.'

Jack is intrigued by this set-up. Jim thinks Wilford could have found literally anyone more interesting to look after the dog than this guy.