Caterwaully Francis

Wolf sang me a song. 'Barnacle Bill the Sailor Man' was the title. Wolf gently wove a musical tale of a beautiful maiden who was seduced, and ultimately knocked up by a wandering man of the sea. i could smell the ocean air and taste the brine in his words. buried deep within slurring vowels and swaggering demeanour lay a tender voice, fertile with vibratto. Wolf then took his Sierra-Mist-in-a-bag and howled into the night.

'The Werewolf of Trafford'. that's what they called him.

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