I’m on a bus to Washington right now. I’m meeting a mate there, then we’re off to a computer fair in Sunderland. I’ve not been to one of those in around a decade, probably longer. The internet pretty much killed off computer fairs, so it’ll be interesting to see whether this is more than a one-off. And what they have to offer now that phones and tablets have decimated the desktop market (I still have two desktops).
Anyway, a couple of minutes ago, I passed a man walking down the street. He was carrying a newspaper and, I’m assuming, a bag of cans (beer, rather than beans). Before High Fell club closed a few years ago, I often used to see him on buses. He used to catch a bus outside the club at closing time. He often had a carrier bag, filled with (another assumption) meat. Whatever day of the week I passed the place, he’s be at the bus stop at closing time.
I named him El Gringo, because he’s short, somewhat round, balding, with slightly long hair and a huge Zapata moustache.
Looking back, I’m not sure why I gave him that name. With a sombrero and an ammunition belt over his shoulder, he’s be a classic spaghetti western bad guy.
I was surprised to see that he’s still alive.