The raw rock of the Gloucester Arms was the aural background for my meeting with Terry's Canadian cousins. The girl-cousin was animated and friendly. Her Irish ancestry was evident in her mannerisms. Her brother was a big boned and hardy handsome, a quiet bulldozer of a man. He expounded upon the merits of weightlifting, being a bouncer and the amazing expansiveness of the Alberta landscape.
They don't do hedges is Canada.
Afterwards, I met Terry's landlord. He is a mellowed intellectual monster simmering beneath a mop of effusive grey hair. Each strand carefully awry. We drank Grappa and ate chicken with noodles. He began to engage us on the topic of metaphysics. Occam's razor was wielded. He challenged us to explain the basis of quantum mechanics and the Copernican view of the universe as we shared a spliff.
I noticed him going to the kitchen sink apparently to wash some dishes. My brain would not believe what my eyes were telling it. He was taking a piss in the sink! His own sink admittedly, but somehow the image shocked. I imagined he was mocking our timid conventions on acceptable behaviour. I'm tempted to try this myself when conversing with someone. I could suddenly whip out a thermos flask and proceed to urinate before my shocked interlocuter.