Lobbyist, spin doctor, misanthrope and controversialist.
Political jack of no trades and master of even less. Styles himself somewhere between sport loving man of the people and gin drinking art ponce.
There was a scarf phase. An eloquent swearer, he’s Fife Club’s most consistent ranter, although his raving days are well behind him. Formerly of London, now on a bus somewhere between Fife and Glasgow.
Slowly morphing into a less Jewish version of Toby Ziegler – spiritually and physically. Buy him a vesper martini and he’ll tell you a story about how he almost met someone famous once, but didn’t because he couldn’t be arsed.
Floats like an ewok, stings like a tree. Loves communism a bit too much.