Wayfarer

He was eating a Scotch egg and gazing into the harbour as I passed by. With his  weatherbeaten face, bushy beard and huge pack he was clearly a man of the road path and I stopped to ask if he was going far. Right around the coast of Wales he said, for the third time. He's on a mission to alert people about the amount of plastic waste that's washed up in remote bays  and inlets without access from the land. Small communities (like this one ) are becoming more savvy about collecting marine litter now but for the inaccessible places you need a boat. One like that would be perfect, he said, pointing towards Buzz's vessel which, sea-worthy at last, was bobbing on the water further along. I know a lot about boats, said he, I just need to raise enough cash to buy one.
It's a great plan I said and I'd be happy to publicise your campaign; do you have any literature? No ,nothing like that. In fact he had no insignia of any kind and I had to conclude he was a one-man band with a pipe dream. The social media details he offered me didn't turn up much either.

It was coming on to rain and he was heading up to the Old Fort to see if he could find some cover where he could bed down for the night. I wished him well and gave him the emergency fiver I keep in my camera case.  He held my dog while I took the photo and told me his name was Geraint.