The Old Fisherman

He sits in his damp, dark workshop, surrounded by the debris of a long fishing past, both his and that of his never to be forgotten ancestors; a variety of fish boxes, buoy's and floats,ropes, anchors, nets, trawls and lobster pots all fill the air with the salt stained smells and distant memories of better days at sea. He listens, collecting forecasts, choosing whichever one is best or worst, adding them together to make a gale. Tourists love him, with his 18th Century beard, his age old charm, he wouldn't look out of place in a tired portrait. He wears the dusty uniform of the ancient seadog, weathered, worn and windblown. His early days were spent at sea, the Bristol Channel trade, Bridgwater, Swansea, Appledore were all familiar ports to him before returning home to fish and drink. With his encyclopedic memory he can tell you of all the ports around the world and he takes an interest in the few remaining ships that ply their wares from Bristol bound for Spain, watching as they pass on by, from his seafront bedroom window.
Take his photograph, many do; for if he had a pound for every picture taken, he'd be a wealthy man today; from Nova Scotia to New Zealand his face is found. Newspapers, magazines, films, adverts and television, he's done them all.
Ask him about the fishing and you'll receive a history of the industry, ask him about the village and he'll take you back in time, but don't ask him about the weather, it's never quite right, ask him about the future, "What future!" He comes from a time when a son learned the skills of the trade from his father or grandfather, when men relied on themselves in order to net a days fish and usually did. He looks forward to a time full of rules and regulations, paperfull days on shore, replacing the hope of a catch and no one listening to the man that just wants to make a living.
Will there be another like him? The tides recede from his world, the echoes of his day are waves rushing by and fish already caught, they cannot be caught again. He is one in a million, the last of his kind, he is a character, there are no characters like him, there are no characters.