George

George is a hard-talking, hard-smoking, pensioner, artisan, craftsman, luthier, artist, boilermaker and raconteur, with a rasping cough and a voice to match, although if the truth be known, and it rarely is around George, he would prefer to be described as "that Wog who only had three years of education".

Steve caught us mid conversation the other day, although the term "mid" is used fairly loosely, as it's difficult to tell when a conversation with George actually begins, and it only ends when he's out of sight, but in any case he made a brave attempt to interrupt by asking if we ever stopped talking.

George turned to him and explained that life is like a garden. For some people it is full of brown grass and dead trees and prickles.

"This isn't very good" he declared, continuing that it should be like a beautiful garden filled with flowers and beautiful fruit.

"If you want the roses to grow big and beautiful, Stephen", he went, on pausing for emphasis,

"you need to spread a lot of bulldust".