Daffy Darlington from Moston slipped into my pot-collecting world and became a great pal for a year or two. It was his expansive lustrous, dark mulleted mane that caused him to acquire his moniker. This was only revealed to me quite far down the line into your acquaintance but I could see immediately how perfectly it suited him. Indeed he did in fact have a bit of a mallard-like waddle which was accentuated when he was wearing his penguin-style potman get-up. He was a few years older than me but a lot more worldly-wise and he never let anyone or anything get him down. It all just rolled off him – like water off a duck’s back in fact. He knew what was important in life and what really didn’t matter. Its hard to imagine him charging round a sweaty nightclub lifting empty glasses but I suppose he must’ve done. I can’t remember if he had a day job – possibly not. He’d come back to Manchester after studying at Keele and working in London for a while – something to do with horses. It was his cheerful easy-going good-humoured nature that attracted me. He always had a smile on his face and was a real joy to be around. He loved going to gay pubs and organised a Sunday night drink in the Thompsons Arms. No surprise then that he suggested the island of Mykonos as a holiday destination. I think he knew it would be full of colourful characters and he was right. These two weeks were the highlight of our friendship. We had a blast, leading a riotous nocturnal existence, meeting a cast of exotic chancers from every corner of the globe and rarely getting to bed before daybreak. He drove me down to London once and we had a manic weekend hanging about with some of his old pals and doing the rounds of his haunts. He disappeared like he came and just sort of gently melted away. But it seemed perfectly natural, a few more years hanging around with Daffy might have had serious long-term health implications but it sure was fun while it lasted.