"Death is the only truth of life", he'd roar and I'd roll my young eyes thinking, 'cliche!'.
He reeked of rum but his razor sharp tongue was commanded by brains that missed nothing.
Fighting tooth and nail, leaping fearless into brawls, he was Quixotic not heroic.
But when I got the mail that he'd passed away, I cried, knowing it meant one hug less for me.