My old next door neighbour was ace (he is still ace but I moved).
Works on the Isle of Barra but keeps this other house over here on the east coast of Scotland where he used to work as an teacher… a keen user of the belt with a reputation for colourful outbursts, and a habit of locking kids in cupboards.
His flat has no electricity and no running water. As far as we could tell it’s piled high with books and magazines with crawl spaces to get around. He is never seen without his trusty carrier bag and wears a sweater with holes in it… never any more or less whatever the weather. In the carrier bag is The Times, a country ways type magazine and probably some very hardcore homo porn (this is an assumption as we occasionaly got his mail which has been this, and we have seen him sitting looking at this with it hidden in his newspaper).
As a bloke to speak to he is increadibly interesting and knowledgeable but you don’t want to get too close as he smells a bit.
From the discussions with him we know he owns a load of propertys scattered about the country including one or two very large ruined castles.
I miss chatting with him and the next time I see him I’ll make sure he knows where we moved to so he can pop round.