Rather like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, he fixes me with a beady eye and proceeds to talk at, rather than with, me.
He, for He is this gentleman’s sole topic, would seem to have, or have had, a life more vibrant and enthralling than any other, including my own quiet and unremarkable one.
I find his bragging insufferably tedious and tend to flee at the first opportunity.
He bears a remarkable similarity to Napoleon’s Horse.
Napoleon’s horse is out to grass
and riles his fellow quadrupeds
with endless tales of derring-do ...
at his approach, they turn their heads
and quickly find something elsewhere
to seem to do till he departs.
Such boastful words exasperate
those whose career was pulling carts.