Last night I had the pleasure of sharing a couple (four) of pints with Nicky's Grandad in South London. He goes to the same pub at the same time every night. He easily puts down five to six glasses of Fosters in a sitting. He's an ol' London cockney that has hundreds of stories from throughout his life. He had twelve brothers and sisters. They were poor, so the boys had to share one pair of shoes- taking turns to wear them and then to go to school. His mother sold him to the carnival when he was 13. As a carnie, he drove the motorcycle in the Wheel of Death. His other stories revolve around evil pet monkeys (is there any other kind?) and a cross eyed pig named Suzie.
I'm going to try to get him to tell me more stories (it's not difficult), so I can write them down and illustrate them.
This is that man.
