He's not a Siamese Fighting Fish, but a fighter nonetheless

As part of my English experience (other than eating fish n' chips and waiting for the bus) I'm getting to know the locals, the real Brits. Like the cab driver I remember as a kid in the back of a black taxi with my parents in London and him telling his story and the sudden disappointment of the arrival because there was always more to his tale. Or in Cornwall on holiday and the woman at the ice-cream shop calling me "love" or "Ta, petal", or "thanks a million", or "Bloody 'ell mate!". It's BRITAIN! And I'm trying to find it's finest. Or should I say, IT is finding me.

There's a Cockney man (cab driver type) that I have befriended here in the uppity little village of Westbourne and before I paint a picture of im through clever words and quoting his magnificent colloquialisms of old London I'll show you this photo I took of him. I'm sure Charles Dickens would have done the same if he could.




Meet George Joyce - born and raised in Landon town and is the last of a dying breed who loves his country and hates bureaucrats. But he chooses to fight them and claim every benefit he can just so the mass exodus of immigrants can't. I'm on the front lines of socialism warfare over here.

"The country's gone MAD!" he says rolling a cigarette using smuggled 'baccy' a friend of his picked up in Gibraltar. Tobacco gets taxed 3 times just crossing border lines within the E.U. He told me yesterday that, after filling out copious amounts of paperwork ("cor blimey") that The Council has decided that he's eligible to receive 50p a week for housing benefit. "That's more than a bloody postage stamp" he barks. Other great words are "barmy" and "crikey". He called me "clever clogs" the other day and I nearly died, it took me waaay back. I also got a cloud of tax free tobacco smoke in my face.



The man is a class act, the real McCoy and a fella I'm privileged to know. He should be followed around with a camera for all of us to enjoy. I'm sad to have lost my phone because, while talking with George one time and asking him a million questions like some kind of reporter, I had my finger on the record button. He knows this because I'm not sneaky and I can tell the man anything.

He's living the BettaLife without even knowing it. And I'll explain why sooner or later.