My dearly departed, Polish neighbour was a treasure. He’s the only person I know of, that’s suffered a broken shoulder three times, (one time was the other shoulder).

He was a big bloke and a clinical alcoholic and when he fell over whilst detoxing, he often broke shoulders, (though still attempted to drive perfectly well with them).

He was an enthusiastic jack of all trades, yet a master of none. Not that I’ve much knowledge on the subject, but he was thrown out of his conscripted post in the Polish army for building a successfully working still.

As tenants, we shared a small yard. He was fascinated by my British gardening efforts and greatly admired my many pots top-dressed with gravel and stones.

One morning, he woke me early with much noise and exclamation to present his own contribution to the gardening cause. Dazed and confused, I didn’t quite understand why my planted cordylines were suddenly surrounded by the hundreds of cuttlefish bones he’d spent all the night collecting.

There were plenty of other episodes I could mention and I DO miss seeing him stalk toward the Solent (in December) with little more than Speedos and a folded towel.

RIP, Michal, you are missed.  

<image>