BONNYWEATHER

Ambrose Bonnyweather was a man whose life had used up fifty summers, half a century of being out and about on planet Earth. Amazing really he thought, for half a century he had been gathering experience to make him the man he was to-day, and that made him smile, perhaps a little smugly. He left the smile on his face to show people that he had something to smile about.
Ambrose Bonnyweather was not a big man, physically, he was well built, burly, but he wasn’t fat. His burliness was accentuated by the old fashioned blue chalk stripe suit he was wearing the Homburg hat set sternly like a helmet, and the thick ebony stick with which he struck the pavement, a Mussolini carrying a large plastic bag by its neck. He looked conspicuous. And he knew he did. The half smile playing at the corners of his mouth made his face look benign to the multitude of fellow humans accompanying him at half past nine that morning in Oxford Street. And he could tell, see satisfaction that people by their glances were aware that he was an enigma. He strode another thing few people did, strode manfully down the pavement, and strode purposefully. And his brisk striding was a sort of personal demonstration against what he thought was missing from modern society. And what was missing he was quite categorical about, briskness, a sense of purpose and a conviction that it was how you looked and acted that mattered. Oh yes he was an enigma alright, it would take a good man to guess what he did for a living. The unfortunates around him who devoted their lives to career structures and uniformity, which was certainly not for him. He thanked God he was a thinker, and that was what he was doing now, and it was his work that he was thinking about.
When he saw the red setter the corners of his mouth lost half their smile and his face hardened. His eyes assayed the dog as they would a nugget and his first attempts at affectionate noises to attract the animal made three or four people turn to him quickly, but their reflexes belied the looks they gave him. The dog didn’t even turn its head. He called “here, here then” as he pushed his way through the passers- by, and “here boy, here then boy” were variations he used as he marched purposefully after the setter. The dog disappeared from his view momentarily and he lurched forward quickly, his stick smartly rapping the leg of a large grey suited briefcase carrying man who didn’t like it.