Phil

Walking past the car-park of a large supermarket, my attention is called by a man standing by his car.  He has perky dreadlocks, an angular face and a leather jacket.  In one hand is a cigarette, in the other a mobile phone held together with an elastic band.  We talk through railings.  He has had an altercation with the parking officer because he has no change, needs to go to the shop and doesn't want a ticket.  The parking officer has told him that he needs to find someone 'nice enough' to lend him forty pence.  I am that person.  He smiles and thanks me.  I ask my question.  'Whose middle name?' he asks.  'Yours', I explain.  He tells me and walks away. 

On the way to his car, he wheels round with his arms in the air.  'What's your first name?' he asks.  At my reply he gives me a look of approval, 'It's a good name', he says.  I say thank you.  'I'm an artist', he continues.  I ask what sort of artist.  'Well I'm an artist, sort of', he leans in, 'but I'm also an illustrator'.  I nod.  'I paint everything', he gestures towards the walls of the car-park.  'Everything you see around you', he looks up, 'I paint the sky ... the clouds ... the birds ... I paint everything in the cosmos ... the sea ... the stars ... the trees ... the grass ...', he mimes moving through water with his hands, '... the little fishes'.

He asks if I know anything about websites as that is the only thing standing between him and success.  I tell him I'm probably not the best person to help but walk away inspired.