FROM the steely glare that the woman was giving me I guessed she didn't approve of me talking to the drunk in Morrisons.

But can I help it if I attract them?

Let's face it, I'm not flattering myself by thinking he only wanted to talk to me - I'm sure anyone would have done.

But as he waited to pay for his three bottles of extra strong cider (and the young check-out girl was doing her best to keep her cool) he entertained us with a few tales.

I'm fairly certain that he didn't need any more booze to while away Friday afternoon.

You didn't need to stand too close to him to catch on that it wasn't the first of the day.

However, he did tell a good story.

He told me that he's mates with Gazza and used to know George Best.

I couldn't help myself - he was rather asking for it.

I suggested that as they weren't exactly the best examples of people who could control their alcohol consumption - one's just been sectioned and the other's dead - that perhaps he should learn from them.

He replied that he couldn't help himself - he liked a drink.

At least he was truthful about that.

He said he was off down to Chester Road where he paints.

I'm not quite sure what type of painting. If he's some eccentric genius or an undiscovered artist (of the other kind)?

But either way he seemed harmless enough and at least he was enjoying himself.

What a way to spend the afternoon, the sun was shining and he had his cider, meanwhile I was heading back to the office.

There's a lot to be said for it.