Bloodnut

He was a pugnacious bloodnut with a droll wit and a rollup fag on his lip.

“Red” his mates called him: a wild bloodnut like his father, and like his late uncles before Tobruk sands claimed them.

He looked younger, thinner, was pale and unshaven, the image of a man on a bender, complete with a red-haired partner in crime. ‘I say, Howard, your chief chemist would look ree-mahr-kable on a polo pony, don′t think?’ said the bloodnut, who reeked of alcohol and stale tobacco.