He had an unusual way about him. He was a sort of standoffish gentleman, but had a countryman's rough air about him. He hates socialising: he avoids it like the plague, deems it as boring and he likes to use as little words as possible. Bushels of silver grey hair, a full blown beard and moustache, thin as a rake with a tan the colour of deep dirt, unusual scars, my granddad, when first seen is a formidable man.
He is married to someone the complete opposite of him, a talkative fussy woman. You would often find him in his shed to escape her. Here he brews all sorts of concoctions. Bottles labelled Vine One and Two along with apple cider and lemon wine line the walls. Old style bottles are filled with beer, hidden under the bench in wooden crates. One thing my granddad is proud of is his brewing.
You will often hear him say, "Try a bit of this", or, "Yea, you make it like so," and with a flourish of his hands he expects you to know what he is talking about.
The shed is his haven. Walking thorough, it is like its own little house with a rough homely feel about it. One room is filled with books covered thick in dust. Another has the laundry equipment, with his record player and all the instruments and nic naks required for brewing. The main part of the shed is filled with freshly used paints, and canvas and easels line the wall. Brushes soak in fresh turps. The shed reflects the person who frequents it, who escapes from civilisation in there.
His attire is always the same, for shopping, digging in the garden or painting. He cuts off his jeans into shorts, and instead of getting hem hemmed, uses double sided sticky tape instead. A wide flung flannel shirt serves him as a t-shirt. I have never seen him in a jersey. His clothes suit his surroundings well; he owns seven pairs of sandals and one pair of shoes, which are barely worn. The only time you will see him in a half decent shirt is when he has to make an outing, even then, it will be a faded unbuttoned one.
He has an exact daily schedule, where the most important time is in the afternoon, for his 'five o' clock beer'. If he happens to miss it you can count on him to say something. Also part of his routine throughout the day is to tinker or construct something, which usually ends up with him getting hurt or falling off his ladder again. He also does a little bit of painting during the middle of the day, "When the sun is just right". He can paint anything and everything. On his shed door is a picture of his dream vineyard - masterminded by himself.
People like my granddad for his knowledge; he treats everyone with respect and likes to mind his own business. I like my granddad for his qualities such as honesty and his lack of pretence.