I knew a guy. A huge ginger haired alcoholic who lived on the streets.
'Ronnie McEwan, eyes of blue, six foot two and he's after YOU!'. A real urban legend and he was more like six four.
He showed me his passport, it was stamped with every country in Europe and most of South America. I asked him about his experiences abroad and he told me he couldn't remember ANY of it. Nothing. The only thing that proved he was there were the stamps.
Anyway, he was a meths drinker (methylated spirit for anericans), this was in the days before they put poisons and dye in to make it undrinkable. He hung about the town centre asking people to buy things from shops for him.
He couldn't go in, he was banned from entering every shop/pub/supermarket/everything.
In the mid 90's he smoked weed for the first time and left nearly fifty years of drinking behind him.
Just like that.
He smoked dope and eventually started doing a lot of speed. He used to stir two teaspoons into his coffee. Every few hours. Which is obviously why I thought of him straight away.
He lived in a block of protected housing flats behind my and I was buying hash off him and helping him with his bills, finances etc. Reading his mail out to him because he was illiterate.
Last I heard he had rolled a car into a field and when the police showed up they found a bin bag with twenty thousand jellies in it.
I'm sure he's dead by now. Good guy though despite the insane reputation.
You're not Ronnie McEwan are you mate?
If you are your literacy has gone up quite a bit and you're 85 years old.