He dicovoured the Lake District, and Shropshire. His meagre funds soon ran out and his clothes became shabby. He looked like a tramp. Indeed he was a tramp, sleeping in haystacks and bus shelters. On one occasion he was woken up by a friendly policeman whilst sleeping in a shelter in a park in Warrington. The policeman let him carry on. He started seeking out Salvation Army Hostels. He drank quite a lot of their soup, and often inhabiten one of their beds for the night Although he disapproved of their theology he respected their social work and humanity for the rest of his life.

          It was in one of these hostels that he met up with an old tramp who claimed he had forgotten his name. The bald top of his head made up for the exceedingly long hair that surrounded it. His long beard had turned white at the edges. His clothes were interspersed with sheets of newspaper, the lower levels of which had grown into his skin. He smelt like a pig farm, but Brian hardly noticed it as his own smell would frighten off any respectable person. Brian learnt a lot of tips from his newfound companion, so they stayed together for some time, covering most of Shropshire and the Welsh border.

          George had already started to wonder about this way of life when they were walking along a canal bank towards Liverpool. Both were very hungry. Some raw onions came floating down the canal. They got a stick; hauled them out, peeled them, ate them, and suffer from violent indigestion.

          By the time they got to Liverpool the two companions had split up. Liverpool held a lot of great memories for Brian from the time when he and Ginger had lived it up at the expense of her majesty’s forces. This time it was not like that. It had started snowing. He made his way to the Pier Head and found a suitable bench. Having walked all day he quickly fell asleep. He awoke to find himself covered in snow. He got up and walked around to warm himself up. There was a cafe shack by the end of the walkway that served the workers from Birkenhead while they waited to get on the ferries. George had used it before but the woman behind the ‘ let down’ did not recognise him. She nevertheless with the lack of customers on such an inclement night greeted him with, “It’s damn cold isn’t it?” She lacked human contact.

          “It certainly is.” Her knew how she felt.

          “Where are you off to?”

          “Oh nowhere. I am just killing time. That is if time doesn’t kill me.”

          “It’s a good job you’ve got a sense of humour in this weather. You look cold . Here let me get you a cup of tea.”

          “I have no money.”

          “Oh that doesn’t matter. It’s on the house. Sorry I mean shack!”

It was while he drank his tea that he decided that this was not a good way of life and he would have to get back to civilisation.

          The next day he walked across to Childwall and rang the doorbell of his old friend Ginger.

          Ginger opened the door. “Yes what do you want?”He had not recognised Brian.

          “At the moment a bit of sympathy.”

          “Why!! Its George. Come in.”