Cold as the depths of a deep mountain pool.
Cold as the tip of an Eskimo's tool.
Cold as charity and that's bloody chilly
But not half as cold as our poor Willy;
He's dead, poor fucker, he's dead.

This was the favourite rhyme of my old friend Nick Nichols. I served my tool and diemakers apprenticeship under him back in 1971. He died about 15 years ago. I still miss him and often think about him "as old Jack Greenwald used to say". He was an eccentric and lovable auld rascal.

Fergus