Beer-bellied, sweat-stained and builder-arsed, he leaned by the luggage hatch as everyone - frail old people and immaculately manicured young women alike - wedged in their bags as best they could. He offered critiques like: ‘how long are you going for, a century?’ and, if anyone complained, he shrugged and told them to ‘buy a car then’. He started shouting when he saw how badly packed the compartment was. At the one break in our eight-hour journey, he kept us all waiting for fifteen minutes outside the locked coach in shadeless 33 degree heat while he finished his meals in HesBurger.
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