Britain’s got talent

Walking through town today heard what sounded to my ears like the most beautiful Irish air, being whistled note-perfect by a tall man in a slightly shabby, but very formal black suit and what I think were Doc Martens – longish swept-back white hair and beard – the spit of Richard Harris.

Oddly, he was looking in the window of an estate agent.

This fellow really ought to be on the  TV – but then I imagine that – whoever he is – he’s got more sense than that.

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